Turbulence
by Galimatias
Summary: Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has cautioned that all aerial appendages be secured. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please keep all arms and legs within a safe distance of your person. This message is brought in part by the fact that those with wings will often experience interruptions of smooth sailing. Have a pleasant flight and thank you for choosing Butterfly Bog.
1. Different: In Which Two People are That

**AT THIS MOMENT, THIS IS THE ONLY STRANGE MAGIC MARIANNE/BOG KING FIC UP ON THIS SITE. LET'S NOT KEEP IT THAT WAY.**

**And until Fanfiction decides to do the decent thing and makes a Strange Magic subcategory, this will be under Misc. Movies. If you want to see this happen, send out a few emails. Make a few stories. Let them know that Butterfly Bog is a thing.**

**Post thought: Well this movie is going to suck.**

**After thought: Well... that movie sucked.**

**IT. WAS. AWFUL. And I know that that is a personal opinion, but coming from someone who studies the movie business, I could write you a _list_ as to why it did not succeed along with pie charts and a meme of a vacuum saying "even I can't clean up this shit" or something like that. But I wont go into that right now. Because... despite it's many... many... many... MANY... many... _many_... many... many flaws...**

**... this movie had the greatest love pairing of all time. Not forgivable. But not _un_forgivable. Right... well... lets go then.**

**My thoughts before I began this story; This is going to be a drabble! Two thousand words! Tops! **

**Spongebob narrator: Eight thousand words later.**

**Me: Well fuck.**

**And may I just thank dainesanddaffodils (tumblr) for this amazing prompt! Check her out. She's great!  
**

**Everyone out there who has ever felt different. Embrace it. That might just be your greatest power!**

**Apologies for the rushed ending. Past 9k and I kind of wonder where my life has gone. Enjoy!**

* * *

They fought constantly.

They never stopped to wonder why this was; the answer was as obvious as night and day. They were different. Very different. So different.

Too different.

Many times their fights were verbal, spitting words back and forth over long expanses of space, closed off only by the brushes and cowering ground dwellers around them. Other times it was more physical. Oh, she'd never dare to raise a hand to him and he wouldn't have even imagined striking her. But raised swords, sparks and ferocious duels were not uncommon. The two would scuttle, slip, fall and fly, taking over sky and ground, trees and dirt. For seconds, minutes, hours on end the sounds of clashing were all that could be heard. Metal against metal. She'd draw her sword, he'd raise his staff. Wings would flutter and then buzz fiercely.

They would banter when these fights broke out. One or two were meant to hit where bladed edges could not. And then, as the shadows passed and their breaths became ragged, the taunts and sneers turned into heaving laughs, whatever air left in their exploding and aching lungs used to poke and prod rather than stab and twist. These were the best kind of fights. Ones where darkness and light could meet in the middle and leave from the same place. Sometimes together, fingers intertwined and, more often, lips.

These were the fights where he would call her _princess_ with a twisted lip and she'd call him a greedy thief with pointed eyes. There would usually be a stalemate, both parties daring the other to drop their weapon, admit defeat. Maybe that was why they fought. Neither knew the word. Like negative magnetism they pushed against each other, nature pleading them to stay apart lest they explode into a magnificent display of science experiment dares and false volcanic eruptions.

And when sword and staff finally clattered to the ground she showed him just how much beauty and power she had and he proved just how greedy he could really be, hands stealing touches and claiming skin. These were the times they told nature to stay out of it and the world that hated them together to deal with it, noses raised to the skies. These were the times when his shyness backed into a corner and her stubbornness turned a blind eye and they were too exhausted to be anything but themselves.

More than one time Marianne had gone home after one of these fights, her collar hiked up unnaturally high over a rather brilliant mark he'd placed there -_the insatiable boggart_\- and passed by her disapproving father attempting to leave him as in the dark as the Dark Forest itself. Worse than her father was when her darling, big eyed sister found herself in the mix. The conversations that followed her appearance were always awkward, quick and filled with curious quips.

On one memorable night nearing the end of Spring she had gotten back from a particularly nasty joust with the Bog King and had tried her best to sneak through the castle doors, nodding to a few guards who tilted their helmets but said nothing and for that she had been grateful. She would never be that lucky, though. Her path to her bedroom was cut off by fluttering wings and a thoughtful scowl. "Where have you been," Dawn would always ask that question first, hands clasped innocently behind her pale frock. Marianne suspected that her sister may have known, but Dawn's relationship was hardly as hungry as her own was and she was sure that nothing of the kind had happened to interrupt the sweet innocence of the couple. "it's nearly midnight! You know how father doesn't like us to travel at night!"

"Bog dropped me off," Marianne would have lifted her head indignantly but the flushed purpling wine stain on the skin near her collarbone warned her otherwise. Why oh why did her significant other have such impenetrable skin? Why did she have to be marked up like a scorecard.

"Oh! Is he outside?" She looked over her shoulder, as if to catch a glimpse of the man. The blonde was still wary of him and Marianne could hardly blame her. Being kidnapped and held against your will, no matter the trance you find yourself in, is never pleasant. She couldn't be left in a room with him, got twitchy and nervous if he was too close and usually stuck near to someone if his name was mentioned. Even now her hands wrung together, the cogs in her head working in their neurotic constant circles.

"No, he left. He just made sure I got home on time."

"Oh! Oh… that's… nice?"

"Yes, Dawn, it was nice of him," she smirked, hands going to grasp her hips, leaning forward look down at the youngest of her family. "That's usually what nice people do."

"Yes! Right! Nice people." She blushed a brilliant fuchsia, even more potent against her fair skin and hair. "That is what he is."

Marianne rolled her eyes once more, taking a moment to stare at the ceiling before heaving a sigh. "Okay Dawn. Well, goodnight. I'm off. And you should go soon too. It's late and-" the bottom of her top rippled slightly. Her sister squinted.

"Why is your shirt ripped?"

Damn.

That had elicited a very long and unbelievable lie about a scrimmage she'd partaken in with a thornbush. Her sister's question of _I thought you never flew through thorn bushes?_ made way for a fanciful adventure involving a chase scene from a nasty squirrel. "And then I tore my shirt," she shrugged, trying to back away. "Easy as that!"

"I thought the Bog King got you home?"

_Damn, damn, damn, damn_. So this is why she never lied! She had forgotten just how bad she was. "He did," Marianne said quickly through her teeth. "He was there. Defending me. He got me out of the thorn bush. But… he had to rip the thing… because I was stuck."

That wasn't a complete lie. He had ripped her tunic. Just not on a thorn bush.

They had been having a great fight. One of their best. She had shown him her new moves and he'd been more than impressed with her. Of course them being persons of skill he had taken the chance to show her just how he could fight. The edges of his staff near the stone were sharp, swirled things and one had caught its way onto the edge of the fabric. She'd ducked away fast enough to avoid skin being next. But it had still succeeded in making the smallest of tears, only as long as her thumb.

That rip had had some assistance in its dramatic lengthening when, upon the end of their bout, his sharp fingers had done the rest.

To be fair, she had run soft fingers down his back when he looked away.

"Oh…" Dawn gave her a long look. Marianne hiked up her shoulder and hoped it passed for a shrug. If her sister looked any harder she would see the only obvious impression. She did eventually give her own in return. "Okay. That's fine," it didn't sound convincing enough. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And, hey. Dawn."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe tomorrow we can go look for mudskippers. Just you and me. I'm in the mood to lasso something."

Her sister was back in an instant, all smiles and flushes and perfect teeth flickering in the candlelight. "Oh yes! Yes! Yes! That sounds perfect! What should I wear though? We'll be getting dirty, right? Yeah… we will… and what if Sunny sees me doing that! He wouldn't care would he? Wait! Would he?"

"Goodnight, Dawn."

"I have to plan my outfit!" She bit her fist, a shimmer in her eyes. "Oh, yeah! Goodnight!" And she'd scurried away.

That had become Marianne's way of averting her sister's attention. throwing an activity at her last minute. She felt guilty. She and Dawn should have planned things without her needing a scapegoat. At the same time it kept them both happy, and that was all that counted. Her father was pleased that his daughters were getting along, more so than they'd done in years, and everyone else was glad that Marianne had loosened up enough to stop being a guard dog. At least… not one that they could see. There were still times where she saw something from the corner of her eye and when her sisters back was turned her hand went to her sword. Those were her worst moments. But they weren't as frequent. And if that didn't count for something, she didn't know what would.

So the next day she'd gone out with her sister to find mudskippers. And, after having looked at her neck in the mirror before their day trip, she had decided on a rather fashionable moss scarf which was approved most heavily by her always presentable sibling.

In a few days time she'd have to lie again. And she knew one day she'd explain to her sister what was going on. They had, after all, been taught in the ways of the lady and such things were unheard of. But at least she always had an excuse in her sword and her fighting had improved since she'd gotten a jousting partner that was better than trees and the air and the occasional guard who had some time on their hands. So those fights would continue. And Marianne loved those fights.

Those fights were not fights.

She and him had had their fair share of fights.

And those fights were not ones she enjoyed.

The stress of running two separate kingdoms got to both of them and the disapproving stares of those around them even more so. Marianne was hardly managing the kingdom. She wasn't queen. Yet. And the death of her father was something she would rather have not thought about, especially since he was shuffling into his stooped ages. But she had enough responsibility. And most of it was from keeping her side of the forest safe.

Her side.

How ironic that she spoke of peace between sides, and yet there still were sides when the new day rose.

The fights that they had were usually started from nothing and escalated into furious shouting matches, no one willing to back down, admit their wrongs and apologize. In fact she was quite sure that neither she nor he had ever exchanged one. The sorrys came in the form of waning smiles, light tentative touches and quiet words. She sometimes would intertwine their fingers, squeezing their hands together as they sat side by side doing nothing much at all. He was shyer than she -a trait she had never suspected until just after their first meeting- and was never as bold. Sometimes he'd move to sit beside her in hopes she wouldn't move away. When she didn't (and that was an invitation though she'd never say as much) he'd move closer. When he was sure that no rejection was to follow he'd place a hand over hers or run the tips of his fingers through her hair.

And then everything was fixed.

Their worst fight had come during one especially hot summer night. He had shown her to the waterfalls of the dark forest and the day had been spent reading in companionable silence by the rivers edge. She'd told him that she had attempted a picnic but couldn't be trusted in a kitchen. They'd laughed at her exploits. He'd surprised her with a picnic of his own, stowed behind a tree. She'd teased him lightly for his sweetness and he'd spluttered and denied it all. She remembered drinking quite a bit of wine, leaning against him under the shade of a fern and wishing it would never end. Wishing that she had the strength to exchange three little words with him. After all, they were just words weren't they? How hard were they to say?

Apparently harder than she had anticipated.

Though words themselves were quite easy, and it was one of the simplest things to blurt out strings of them instead of the ones that really mattered. So she didn't say that. But she did say something different.

"What's it like being King?"

He hummed, nursing his goblet, looking somewhere over the falls where the sunset was beginning to burn the limestone that poked its head out of the lacey waves. She jabbed his side with her elbow, a futile attempt at something that could never feel like more than a light tap through his armored body, but it got some of the effect she desired. "Wha-?" His confused blue poppy eyes blinked down at her.

"What's it like to be King," Marianne asked again, a twitch in her lip.

He leaned back farther against the fern and the structure bent and stretched against its will. "Why d'ya want'a know now?"

"Just curious." No she wasn't. She was terrified. And whenever she was with him his title whispered in her mind and reminded her one day… "So? What's it like?"

"Difficult, I suppose. I was bred to be one since I was a bairn." His arm found its way around her shoulders, and she reveled in the moment. He was never forward without her help, and whatever moves she wanted reciprocated were always made first by her hands. Frustrating at times, yes. But whenever he did achieve something that she considered to be a step out of his comfort zone she silently cheered, her work paying off and the wall surrounding him being chipped down. This was small. But it meant something. She pressed her back against him, cuffing her fingers round his wrist to keep him from retracting the bold offer. "You get used ta it, though. An' I always liked ruling."

"That's good."

"Why dy'a ask?"

"No reason." His fingers tapped her arm, the sharp ends sending tingles up and down the nerves there. "What?"

"Yee're thinkin'a somethin'."

"I'm always thinking of something."

"No' like tha', an ye know it."

She swallowed. "I don't know… it's just that I've been thinking of ruling lately. My dad he's… well he isn't young anymore."

"Marianne!"

"I know, I know, it's a bad thought. But… but it's still true. isn't it? He isn't young anymore. And I'm the oldest. I'll be the first to inherit. And because of some… circumstances… I was never home enough to get the proper ladylike training that Dawn got."

"I think ye'r kindom will survive if ye dunnai know how ta' curtsy."

"You know what I mean!" He snorted when she batted at him, moving just an inch to avoid the swat that would have done nothing, but amused by the effort nonetheless. She scowled up at the Bog King. He snorted again, mouth training down to attempt a sober expression.

"Aye, go on then."

She humphed, crossing her arms. "Well, if you aren't going to take this seriously-"

"Nae! I'm serious!" She flicked up a brow. "Honest!"

"Well…" a sigh and her face fell. "I guess because of… Roland."

"Roland." It was meant to sound casual. She couldn't miss the poison in the vowels. She reached for his hand and gave it an extra squeeze of assurance, hoping that would be enough to sooth his self doubt.

"Yeah. When he wanted to marry me it was because he wanted to be King. Though really, who knows. He might have felt a little bit wood by my good looks." The humor didn't work as well as she had hoped.

"Though I will agree with his taste in women if that be true," Bog hissed, "I dunnai think that man had any kind'a affections for anybody but himself."

"Anyway, he wanted to be King. And the thing is, I've been thinking a lot about that. I know he was a stupid ass," Bog hummed an agreement and she felt it rumble against her back. "but he still knew more than me about it all. He still had to learn how to be diplomatic and make tough decisions and travel to far off towns and cities and trade and expand-"

"What's yer point?"

"There are better contenders out there! And by better I mean… not… me…"

"Come on now-"

"No! It's true!" She scuttled away from him, ducking about his arm to sit back on her knees and look him straight on, fists curled against the tops of her thighs. "I wouldn't know what to do first! I was never told what to do. My dad was too protective to even think about any of that. His plan for me was to marry me off to some handsome well off Prince or Duke or something and let them take over. He didn't think he'd have to deal with someone like me."

"I _like_ someone like ye's."

"You might, but half the kingdom doesn't."

"That still leaves another half."

"Bog! Be serious!"

"I am!" He pointed his staff at her and the gold stone hit the light and cast an arching wall of fire across the stone wall by the falls. "Let's do a test, yeh? Something ta see how ready ye are."

"A test?"

"Yeh."

She rocked on her calves, nodding slowly. "Fine. A test."

"Right." He tapped his chin with one of his nails, the point of his face rivaling that of his fingers. Twisting his lip he blew a breath out his nose before nodding and sitting straighter. "Righ. Yer first act as Queen. Yer new on tha' throne. What would'ye do?"

Marianne hummed. "I've thought about that a time, actually."

"Do tell."

"When I become queen," she had sighed, almost forlornly though she wasn't sure why, "I think that I'll extend the land out that way." She pointed North. They both knew what was out there. Past both lands lay more forests unclaimed by anyone. But the resources within them were told to be plentiful. Those of their realms, including the leaders, weren't ones for venturing and despite no horrid tales proven true about monsters and ogres and things with big teeth that crunched your bones, not one person had thought to go through and see what they could find. "It isn't much there by ways of people." She nodded to herself. "But I'd still like to see where we can go as a population. And it could serve as a good way to expand our trade if we find new uses for the things in there. New medicines. Herbs. Maybe stronger wood- something that would stay up during the rainy season for houses."

Bog split his face, all his sharpened incisors showing between a barkish smile. "See! It's a great idea if I ever heard one!"

"You think?"

"Yea!" When her face fell, so did his. He was a creature of darkness, and like a shadow he would always be behind her ready to mirror and extend her every mood. "What's wrong?"

"My Father doesn't think so. I told him about it a while ago. He says to use the resources you have, not your gut."

"My gut has nae'er failed me b'fore."

"But you're King already. You have power. No one can tell you what to do with your ideas. I'm just a princess. I don't have anything."

"But you will." He stood, stretching, and she followed suit. She cringed, her spines extending would never compete with the click click clicks as plates readjusted and clipped their way back against the unseen flesh beneath them. "Who knows, one day ya might rule a whole other way."

"Oh yeah, an hows that?"

"I dunnai know. There's still time! And ya can always rule with me if ye'd like."

And Marianne froze.

Did he just…

No… he couldn't have. She wasn't ready for something like that. She still had so much to do. So much time to spend before… He couldn't be asking…

How could her mind go from no thoughts at all to a million in just a second. The Bog King didn't notice the widened features and continued, bending to retrieve his goblet and finishing the final dregs of honeyed wine. "Then ya'd get some practice rulin' from behind me."

He hadn't meant it to sound like that. He'd meant that she'd be able to watch along, learn from him and they'd thread the kingdom back together. He hadn't meant it to sound condescending. He hadn't meant to say from behind to a woman who had always been considered nothing but a backstage prop by too many.

She took it that way. After all, props only go about being positioned by their creators for so long until they wear down and break apart. And she, Marianne, was no different. And even if her relief of not being asked a question she hadn't realized would fill her with black, tarry dread, the other things helped along all the same. Through thick teeth she seethed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Bog King looked up, brow lowering. "What's wha' supposed to mean."

"You know! That I can rule from behind you!"

"Wha' are ya-"

"So I can just be another helpful suggestion again? Do you really think I can't even by the ruler of my own land!"

"I naer said tha!"

"Oh my… Gah! You're as bad as Roland," she threw at him, hands going to clutch clouds.

She hadn't meant it to sound like that. She'd meant that she was tired of being considered less than an individual, that she would have gladly learned from him and they'd thread the kingdom back together. She hadn't meant it to sound so comparative. She hadn't meant to say Roland's name to a man who had always been considered by everyone and himself to be unworthy of love.

The Bog King squeezed the goblet in his hand hard enough to leave indents of his armor. "Wha…" the rasp seethed, "is tha' supposed ta mean?"

The words were out, and no one could take them back. So they continued. Because going forward was all that they knew. "It means," she went on, "that you're as bad as everyone else! You think that I can't do anything because I'm some silly little princess!"

"An' apparently you think I'm a conniving lad who needs some potion to make ya' soft enough ta love someone!"

"Don't you dare say that!"

"Well i's true, isn' it!"

"Oh so now you think that the only way that I could even like you is because I'm under some spell!"

"Maybe! Maybe then ye'd be a better Queen if ya just woke up!"

"And maybe you'd be a better King if you pulled your head out of whatever hole its in and stopped being such an idiot!"

"Oh, so we're back ta insults! Classic Marianne! Always resorting ta her sharp wit."

If she had had her sword she would have drawn it. But she'd left it at home, so she tensed her muscles and whipped everything she had between tongue and teeth, trying to keep the red from moving its way from under her collar and up her face. "As if you're so good at it! We both know who would win in a fight!"

"Then why nauh win one an show me, eh!" He stepped forward, his full height casting a long shadow and sawing her in half. The end of his staff dragged against the ground with a metallic sort of threat. She stepped back, but couldn't escape it.

"I could still rule my Kingdom better than yours!" She backed away as he advanced. Her heel touched water and she turned at the sudden shock of cold. He'd cornered her. Her wings wouldn't work once they'd touched the stuff and she was so close to being held back by it now. She steeled her nerve. "There is a reason there is a light side and a dark side to this forest. The Kingdoms wouldn't get along."

"An' why's that _Princess_."

"Because their rulers are just too different." And as his face dropped she knew she'd hit something. And she'd almost felt bad until he was back to himself and taking another step forward. She took another step back. Her sole was sinking into the pond muck.

"Well maybe the Dark forest doesn't need some fairy Princess gettin' in the way'a things!"

"Getting in the way!"

"Aye! Oh! What? Did you think tha' everythin' would be just filled wi' sunshine and rainbows after we became friends?"

"Friends! You think that's it?" Her toes curled into the ick and moss wiggled through the cracks- cool and webbed.

"Us Dark Foresters nae'er had to deal with the likes of you ba'fore! We kept to ourselves for a reason."

"And what was that?" She clenched her fists, feeling the tips of her nails digging into the flesh and a threat of blood bubbling over. "What was that reason, huh Bog?"

"Tha' reason was ta' keep out those who wanted ta change us! Make us like them."

"Well we certainly don't want to be like you." she spat, and was almost happy through her own self loathing at those words to see the fire in his eyes burn hotter than ever. "Wasting away here in the darkness and the mud." She stretched out her arm realizing a moment too late that the gorgeous waterfall backdrop about her hardly solidified the point she had tried to make. But she kept a straight face and an even straighter arm hoping he'd hook his teeth to the bait. He did.

"You know _nothing_ of our land," he gnashed and he stabbed the air towards her with his staff. She stumbled back to avoid being hit and the tips of her wings dragged across the ebbing surface. The white mist sunk into her hair, curling the ends up and decorating it with glass orbs. "You dare presume yourself fit ta rule! Ta _me_!_ A King_?"

"King of what? At least my job is to keep people blissful, not… not drive them into some deep sad place! I actually have the means to make my subjects happy-"

"Take it back," Bog snarled. "_Take tha' back_!" Now his feet were dragging through the lake. She could see the flashes of silver as grains of sand and pieces of shells swirled around his ankles, which now looked more like the stalks of two impressive saplings.

"Why? Because you know it's true? That I could be a better ruler than you!"

"Nae! Because… because…" he spluttered, losing the fight quickly to her trained tongue. So used to spitting orders, the back and forth was something she had long perfected. His spite faltered. "Because we'll have to do it together and-"

"Together!" Marianne barked a laugh, her eyes bereft of the humor it magnified. She hunched her shoulders, stood on her toes. Her wings were beginning to soak up the water, the edges of them sponging in what they could, darkening. The fibers and nerves and veins protested. "We can't rule together because you're King of Darkness and I'll be Queen of Light. Maybe you'll even learn something!"

"Oh, that'll be good. Jus' you then. Takin' care of everythin'! You can'nae take care'a yourself, tough girl. I was raised to be a King!"

"Oh good for you! The big bad Boggy was given a few etiquette lessons. _Whoopee_. Give him a metal." She turned on him, both of them fuming. The sound of the falls was near drowned out by the roar of her ears. "We rule two different places. Good and bad. It will never change. And just because you had your mother there to show you some things, that doesn't mean anything. She doesn't rule. You do. And that sure shows you how much you know!"

He advanced on her quickly. Their height difference, as he towered over her, had never been so prevalent and his shadow began to drown her the closer he came. Finally, standing over her, both glaring at one another, his fangs bared, chin jutted, he rolled out between a growl, "My father taught me wha' I know bout ruling. The King taught the next King. Father ta' son. But I suppose you wouldn't know wha' that feels like, would'jya?"

And as soon as the words were out he knew he had made a mistake. The hurt in her eyes was brief but it was clear. He snapped his mouth shut, blue's widening. "Ah! Marianne… I… I didn't…" She didn't answer. Large brown dilations flickered from him, down, back to him and down. Arms winding around herself she shook her head.

"Don't."

"Marianne, please, I didn't-" He hurried towards her, hands out for reasons even he wasn't sure of. To beg forgiveness perhaps. Or to embrace her and make everything right. Or maybe just because he was as stunned as she. She moved to get away, too angry and scared and frustrated to think about where she was. A stray current caught her ankle in taunting fingers and tugged. A hurried cry heaved out of her stomach and lungs and she fell backwards into the shallow pond. Her wings sunk and she gasped, scrambling to get up, waves splashing her face and she spluttered through the water.

"Wait! Let me help you!"

"No!" She held up a dirtied hand. Her other grabbed for whatever weed she could find. He stalled, arms extended, looking more worried than he ever had before. "No, just… just stay there." She pushed herself up, was dragged back by the weight of wings that were now colored a midnight purple, and finally gained enough control to maneuver her way to shore. He followed silently behind, gazing anxiously down at the large butterfly tapestries that folded in on themselves and dripped marshy puddles behind her. She tried to lift them, screwing up her face until she did maneuver the heavy things, watching them with a crude fascination as they strained and shook.

"Marianne… I-" She snapped her wings back down. They made a wet _shrip_ against the backs of her legs. The waterfall continued its cheerful gurgle. In the distance a fish slapped stained glass. The sun had turned the sky a hollow scarlet, twinges of violet descending in the slow takeover, stars running behind on chariots. It was too peaceful for them. Or maybe it was peaceful enough. Because the more they stood in silence the more the atmosphere was able to muffle their anger, muting the lines on their faces and swirling their words back to pulsing ears. And those words collected on their spines and in their bellies and became heavy as lead and as malleable as gold.

She backed away, her arms curling around herself. The swampy water on her skin and clothes had begun to dry and crack, and she was sure that her wings would be following soon enough. She hugged tighter. It had gotten cold in a moment. Maybe it was too much wine. Maybe it was something else. Eyes pricking, she glared down at the water to force them to stop. "You go… go rule your Kingdom or something since you're so great at it." the fairy muttered. "I'll stop bothering you now."

"You aren't." he breathed. "Never."

She shook her head. Strands of hair, as brown and as ugly as pond mud, traced her forehead. They left behind murky and spindly thin trails. A few drops hit over her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand- the motion lasting longer than it would take to wipe at dirty water. Her skin came back a bruised purple. Her makeup was coming off.

She wasn't sure which makeup she hated losing more.

"I'll go back to mine, you go to yours." She unfolded her wings, flapping them a few times. The breezes were lazy and caught him under the chin.

"Ye can't get back with those," his worry drowned every other feeling. A bird whistled from a far off perch. "Ye can't fly with wet wings. Trust me. I've seen fairies…" his sentence did the same as they had. "Just… let me help ye get home."

"I can get there on my own." Another temperamental flutter. "Goodbye, Bog King."

And the goodbye sounded too final.

Her flying more like messy weaving and sudden uncontrolled drops all of which he watched with his breath held. But she made it. And when she was out of sight in the trees, he stood a while longer and watched the spot she had disappeared to. A part of him wanted nothing more than to follow. Make sure she was okay. The other told him to stay. It would do him no good.

But I have to go after her, he reasoned, turning to pick up the remnants of their picnic, stuffing it back into the oakwoven basket his mother had pressed into his hands that morning. Anything could happen to her. It's getting dark. She doesn't have her sword. She's not thinking right.

**_Neither are you_**, hissed the side of him that had not too long ago been closer to the exterior than all else. **_This is exactly why you wanted love to leave the forest._**

"We haven't really said we loved each other," he muttered to an empty goblet he'd picked up. He inspected it. It would still work, but the damage done by a too tight grasp was beyond repair. Pity. It had been a family favorite. He sighed.

_But you do love her_, something in him coaxed. _You know you do._

**_Love destroys reason_**, the hiss was back. _**It destroys order. Power. What King would compromise that for something as futile as love?**_

_But you do_, the other reasoned patiently. _And any good person would know that._

**_She said she was better off without you. Let her go destroy her Kingdom. See if we care._**

"She won't destroy it," _destroy, destroy, destroy… roy… oy… oy…_ echoed back at him from the falls. "She'll be a great Queen." _great queen, great queen, queen… een… n… _"And she deserves better than me." _Better than me… than me… an me… me… me… ee…_

_Then don't you think she at least deserves an apology._

_**Not if she doesn't apologize first. Kings don't apologize.**_

The Bog King lifted up the basket and tucked the handle between the crease of his elbow. The stars were beginning to settle into the velvet sky, and a darkness was allowing the moon to creep past the clouds. The air around him smelled like honeyed wine and the scent of lilac and marigolds and lilies that she carried around wherever she went. His realm never smelled that sweet, nor did it carry around with it a light or an assuredness like she did. He was scaled and tall and lanky and smelled of soot and brimstone and moss. He carried darkness about. He didn't trust anyone. She never stopped trying to get him to trust her.

What was he doing? This simply wasn't fair. Not in the least. Not for her.

He picked up his staff after that and ascended into the sky, the buzz of his wings magnifying the stale of furious and helpless silence about the world.

From a far off branch Marianne watched him fly off. She ran a finger through her hair, peeling away flecks of mud. When he was gone she hopped down and began her slow trek home. He was right. She couldn't fly. She wasn't sure when she would fly again. Her wings would take a while to dry, and by the time she would get home her father would be frantic enough that something as trivial as soaked wings would set him over the edge.

Sighing, she looked back once more. A tiny part of her willed him to come back.

_You love him_, a voice called into the silence of her head. She didn't respond, beginning her walk. _Fine. Ignore it. But you do._ A root crackled under her foot. _You should apologize,_ the voice coaxed. _You know you should._

From a darker part of her mind a voice hissed, _**Queens don't apologize.**_

"Shut up," she muttered to no one, wiping at her eyes. The rest of the way home was done in silence.

* * *

Marianne had been right. When she got home her father unleashed hell. He asked question after question, wanting to know where she had been. She'd calmly explained that she was old enough to be on her own. That fight had been lost when her useless wings revealed themselves and her father went into another panic.

She'd slipped away as he'd gripped his hair and trotted to her bedroom.

The mud had dried, but water still dripped from her hair down the back of her shirt. Her clothes clung to her body and her wings made her feel sluggish and heavy. She'd bathed right away, careful to avoid letting the large, purple, very abused things touch water. Then, when the rim of the bath was a soggy sort of brown and she'd picked stray bits of ick from her hair she'd found one of her comfiest outfits, made a fire and settled by it for the night.

Wings spread on cold stone, twitching every so often, she waited not to patiently for them to dry out. It would take at least two days, she realized, picking up one of the ends and letting it hit the floor with a dull plop. Until then she'd be grounded. Forced to walk the earth, confined to a prison of dirt and grass. How did people do it.

Not that she meant to sound ungrateful. But flying always made her feel alive. Free. And right now was the ideal time to have both of those. But no. She'd stay down and be miserable and lonely.

Stupid, stupid Bog King.

She didn't think her thoughts would be punctuated by a knock.

She got ready to tell her father to leave her alone. That she wasn't in the mood to talk. Or get yelled at. And yes, she was taking care of herself, _thankyouverymuch_. But her father never knocked on windows. She stayed silent, thinking it maybe a trick of her mind.

_Knock. knock, knock_.

It was not.

She stood. Or she tried to. It took some effort, pushing off the floor, wings keeping her down like anchors. She hadn't realized just how terribly large they were before this, and it was beginning to strain the muscles on her back. But she did get up and, the purple monstrosities dragging behind her, catching on the occasional cracked stone. And she did eventually get to the window.

She wanted to say why are you here or something territorial like that. Because when she saw him outside her window, four wings blended into a buzzing mess, mouth tight and brows down she wanted to do nothing more than tell him to get lost. But she couldn't.

She pretended to not know why.

But she knew.

She opened the window and stepped to the side. He took the invitation, swooping in, wings slowing, and landed gracefully on the ground. A pang of jealousy washed over her but she kept it down.

"Bog," she said. And then just stopped. Because what was she supposed to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. And apparently he was just as much at a loss.

For the first time, both fairy and goblin found themselves speechless.

The fire crackled. Marianne shut the window and they were left in the dull light of the moon through greenish glass and the yellow and red bursts of crackles in the dug out hearth. She stood near the light, and her raw face shimmered. He stood in the dark, a silhouette of papercuttings and monsters under beds. He smelled of brimstone. She smelled of lilacs. The room was awash with confusing difference.

He spoke first, and the stones caught his accent, throwing it back.

"Ye said…" a pause. He licked his lips, chest expanding at the next violent breath and tried again, "Ye said tha' we were different."

More crackling. Marianne wondered if one could suffocate in tension and almost hoped that it was possible. She shrugged, cutting through what she could, but it settled on her shoulders heavier than ever. "You came back to see me," was all she knew what to say. Because the obvious was the best thing to find.

He had. He'd gotten home, tried to stay and couldn't. So he'd gone after her. It was a relief for Bog to know she'd made it back safely. If she hadn't he didn't know what he would have done. But she had. Her father had cast him glares that had said on their own to leave, so he'd snuck around to her window out of the eyes and ears of all that wandered the grounds.

"Ye said we were different," he repeated, desperately.

"Yeah," if she spun her fingers any faster she would have made silk . "Aren't we though?"

"Why did ye?"

"_Aren't_ we?" Those two had slit faster than her sword ever could.

He didn't answer at first, eyes darting towards her, then away to look elsewhere, always down. "Yes." he concluded. "We are."

And the moon from outside hitting the wall was more of a barrier now. A wall. A line. Separating the warm reds from the dark blues and defining a well etched truth that too many before them had declared. The Bog King stared at that line with as much hate as he wished he could give to her but couldn't for the life of him muster. Because if he couldn't hate her, he would hate the one thing that had caused this all and he would hate it until it broke apart and could let them finally just be and everything could be alri-

"I'm sorry about what I said."

His head shot up. "Wha?"

"I said… that I'm sorry about what I said." Her fingers spun faster, and the friction heated the pads. "You aren't like Roland. You're not like any of them. I didn't mean any of it, I was just-"

"Nauh, it was my fault!" He waved his hands furiously in front of him like windmills. "I didn't mean wha I said 'tall. It was stupid. Yer gonna make a great Queen one day. An… an you're gonna do it on your own!"

A beat. The wall between them hesitated. And then Marianne said the first thing she thought of and, in that second, realized was the brunt of the problem. "I don't want to do this alone."

He took a step forward. When she didn't move he took another. His toes hit the line. "Ye don't have ta. Ya have yer father and yer sister. Ye've got a family helping ya. Ye'll rule eventually. Ye'll rule and I'll rule."

"And you and I?"

"There'll always be two lands." The Dark Forest poking its head over the huge and fertile brushes out her window chorused its approval of the sentiment. "But… but tha' doesn't mean anything, really. This is still ours. They're our people. We take care'a them."

"And we can do it… together."

Hope registerd for a moment, but was cast out quickly. The line brightened- solidified. "… Aye… Yes we can…" He cleared his throat. "I'll teach ye what I can. As… partners…?"

Marianne wanted to respond. She really did. She wanted to say something to him that explained what she really wanted. She had a right to what she wanted. And she could feel a speech winding around her brain; two of them. One yes. The other no. And neither sure which one was to be the chosen one she delivered. Her head spun and the fire crackled and the line between them was becoming a border._** Say it, **_the voice whispered, taunting her. _**Say it.**__**You know it's what everyone wants you to say. Say it!**_ But she clutched at her head instead, pulling against damp hair and that stupid little voice finally shut up when her own made its way into the too large room and said, "Bog… _Don't_."

"Marianne…" he shuffled. The creature in him squirmed around his chest. "What's wrong. I didn't mean to."

"Don't give up." Her head raised. She shook the few hairs that had come away between her fingers onto the ground, clasping hands together. "_Don't give up_."

"What are ye talking about?"

"I'm so sorry about what I said."

"As am I. But-"

"Just be quiet." He was blinking owlishly against the firelight. "We're so different," she started again. "But that's a good thing. I've just - I've never had to negotiate before. I opened myself up to someone and I wasn't who I wanted to be and I made mistakes. But… so did you. So… this thing we have - it isn't going to be easy. But don't think that means that I'm going to give up. And don't you give up on me."

"Are ye sayin…"

"I'm not asking for a challenge. And I don't want to treat this like a game. But I like challenges and I like games and I want…" she swallowed. "Don't give up, Bog. _Please_."

"Marianne…" It was her turn to advance. Towards the blue line between them. Her wings dragged, hissing on cool stone, but she ignored it. Instead she kept going until the two of them were within arms distance, but neither dared to reach. Toes just touching that stupid, stupid, stupid line.

"We're going to fight, Bog. It's inevitable. We're just different."

"Too different." A statement. Sharp feet hissing as he retreated away from her and from the blue thread between them, the mismatched pebbles beneath the blackened claws more interesting than she. He was going back into his shell again. Shyness making its way over his face and arms and body, coating him like a secondary suit of armor and she, the one who had finally broken through enough to see under, wouldn't allow it. Not this time. Not ever.

"Bog, stop. Look at me." He didn't. She growled. "_Look at me_."

He wasn't going to. Too far gone. From inside him the hissing small creature cheered a mighty victory song.

But one can only win so many battles before the war, and the Bog Kings self doubt had never met a match like Marianne.

So she crossed the line. It flickered and blackened under her feet, protesting the action. Telling her not to choose a side. And she retorted back with another firm step that there was no side and there was no line. Just a light on the floor and two of them, _different_, in a room. She closed the distance between them, standing on toes to grab his face between her bath pruned hands and dragging him down to meet her. Spindly arms threw themselves out to the sides for balance, wings shooting up and out and buzzing for a mere moment before stilling like a Greek statue midway in the air. His breath stalled and she felt his pulse under her fingers quicken. "Yes, we're different. Not too different. Just different. Perfectly different." She left no room for argument. Her lips hovered just over his, her Cupids bow a centimeter away. He chuckled nervously, and it brushed the corners of her now slowly spreading smile. There he was, coming back to meet her. She nodded, brows and noses bumping, "Perfectly, wonderfully, _beautifully_ different."

"O…oh really?"

"Mmmhmm…" Her arms moved slowly down, tracing over the shoulder plates to wind around him, fingers tracing the spot on his back between his wings. The spot that she and she alone knew the powers of. His breath hitched. "Don't think you can give up on this, on us, because of one fight. I wont."

"Marianne." God how she loved how he said it. Like every exhale was her name and he couldn't live without it.

How did she end up this lucky? That question was for another day and her hands were back on his shoulders, neck, chin, face.

"We'll have fights. We'll learn to talk about them better. We'll get stronger. We'll get over it. That's what you do when…" and she stopped herself. Maybe it was because she wasn't sure if it was what you did. Or perhaps she just couldn't say it. The light in his eyes dimmed a moment and she noticed, so she grazed her lips against his for a hair of a second. "But that doesn't make us- this- not right. Because if you haven't noticed I don't really care about what people say much and I'm totally ready for an adventure if you a-"

He crashed his lips onto hers and she had her answer before she could finish the question. The boldness was new. And she embraced it happily because something told her that moments like these would be far and few. Until he learned just how much she… Until he learned, he'd always be that shy, untrusting Bog. Waiting for her to turn around and realize who he was and leave. Waiting for her to wake up from a spell and go back to her one true love. But she wouldn't. This is what she liked. This was what she _loved_. _He_ was what she…

She liked the imperfections and she liked the small moments and she liked the sparring and the sarcasm and the quiet and the difference. It was an assurance that he was still him. And she was still her. And they were willing to fight for something that everyone said couldn't happen.

He was the first to wake from the stupor. "Your wings!" He glanced at them, "Are they-"

"They're fine." Marianne shook her head through her swollen smirk, "A few days of drying out and they'll be good as new." She tried to flap them to give him some assurance but only succeeded in a pathetic shudder. He rose a brow but she waved it off. "Its fine. It looks worse than it is."

"Well at least try ta dry them out so they don't look worse."

"I have a fire," she pointed. "See?"

He rolled his eyes and she was pleased to see Bog seeping back into his skin. "Then lets get you back to it before they freeze."

"That can't happen."

He answered her with a hand to her back, just barely touching her with more than the tips of his fingers, muttering about incorrigible fairies and princesses. But when she and he did settle by the fire, her large wings spreading against the floor nearest to the flames his train of thought ended altogether. Their silence this time was one of companionship and nothing much else. He sat farther away from her, scared of what would happen if he was to touch her again, but she was done with all of that. A hand around his wrist and he was dragged towards her. And after more time of silent egging and encouragement his arm would around her and she leaned into him and they sat together there.

The fire flickered around them. She marveled at how long his legs were and he marveled at why on earth he was allowed to have someone like her because he was too lucky of a goblin. And the shadows on the wall cast both him and her into something smooth and rigid and short and long and different but not so very different at all.

"So, how did you even get in?" She interrupted the peace. "My dad just let you stroll in in the middle of the night."

"Uh.. naugh… I talked to your father… He told me ta bugga off."

Her laugh competed with the flare of fire. "Sneaking around to see me, huh? Well maybe tomorrow we can just see each other. Say whatever to everyone and just go."

"It's a nice idea," he muttered into her hair. His breath tickled the tip of her ear and she grinned to herself. Different was definitely something she liked.

* * *

**I hope my addition to this community has left you all just a little bit more content with the fact that you may have to wait another day to see the movie. Hopefully the fics that we post up here help in some way. Because, gosh darn it, they sure do help us.**

**If anyone out there feels inspired to write a fic then do it! Despite my... ehem... _feelings_ for this movie, I do want to see the fans of this ship survive.**


	2. Repetition: In Which History is Fickle

_**Because history will inevitably repeat itself. But repetition often contains different endings. After all, even the most terrible of storybook monsters can crawl out from under the bed to find their love.**_

* * *

**Me while writing this story**

**Me: Alright. Here we go. This time I will do it! This time I will succeed in writing exactly 2k words. I can do it! I can… ooh! This needs more dialogue!**

**Sponge Bob Announcer: ~15k words later…**

**Me: MOTHER FUCKER!**

**Sponge Bob Announcer: Did you expect any different**

**You might as well pop some popcorn. This might take some time.**

**Story: That's a **_**novel**_** idea**

**Me: Shuddap.**

**And I apologize for the rushed ending. When I reached 12k words my life flashed before my eyes. I pressed forward for the cause. But I think I may have lost a little bit of soul in the process. If someone finds it please deliver it back to me… I don't think it wants to come home… that bend around 15k words hurt it.**

* * *

Marianne had woken up feeling positively beautiful.

These mornings were somewhat of a rare occurrence. Image was never her first priority, and she did little for her appearance, a fact her sister had tried to change on more than one occasion. Usually the only thing she needed was her sword, her wit and a quick word secured on her tongue ready to be unleashed. But that morning, blinking out into a perfect sunrise, she had felt unabashedly beautiful.

For an hour she had lay in bed, watching the sun rise over the trees of the Dark Forest a few miles away. The rays caught in the window, shining tiny rainbows across her room, bouncing off the pearl structure that held her bed to the ceiling. She watched them happily, twisting her fingers round a petal of the rose beneath her and swam in her own giddiness. And when gold and fragrance finally combined enough to stilt through the lines of the window and step through and circle her room she rose, stretching, not bothering to sooth the butterflies that tickled her ribcage.

And that morning had been different. Everything had been.

She wasn't sure when it had happened- this change in her person. And yet she could still mark the exact spot.

"How would'ye like ta attend a council meeting with me?"

They'd been sitting in a mossy alcove in the Dark Forest, nestled away from the mushrooms chain of eyes and flightless henchmen who were constantly on the lookout for their King. Surrounding them were piles of scrolls. Easy to identify, hers had been written in delicate scrawl upon paper made from their most durable of flowers and his had been made from some sort of scratchy papyrus. Her father had dumped more paperwork on her yet again and Bog had been more than happy to ask for her company while he did his own.

"Do you want an honest answer to that?" She scanned a few of her fathers decrees, snorting at the pretentious and flowery language the advisers were so partial to. "Because I can tell you right now that you'll be sorely disappointed."

"Yee've hardly heard my argument," he pointed out soundly, not bothering to look up. "No wonder yee're terrible at paperwork."

"What's that supposed to mean!"

"It takes patience."

"As if you're the King of Composure," she said around her tongue. He snapped his scissored claws at her mouth and it retracted with a glare.

Smirking in triumph the Bog King gestured to the large pile of finished documents beside him. "Yee're on yer third, correct? Just making sure ta see that I'm naught judging ye unfairly."

She groaned, shoving the impressive stack of soon-to-be-completed scrolls to the side. "Alright, I yield. Why do you want me at a meeting."

"I just thought it would be a sound idea. Ye mentioned yer interest in politics."

"When have I ever showed an interest in politics."

"Ye dui want to be Queen."

"Of course. That doesn't mean that I actually enjoy the meetings. You know that."

"Ah. Yeh. I suppose I dui. Silly me." He flushed, looked down. "Farget I said anything then."

"Nuh uh. No way. What's the other reason."

"There isn't one! I simply… let it slip my mind."

As if she was falling for that. "_Bog_."

His eyes stayed studiously trained to the paper, but she could see the way his lip had curled into a grimace. "I just thought that maybe… well I mean- I know that yee're involved with yer worlds politics. I thought that, if yee'd care to-" he swallowed, staring at the paper with too much interest than necessary, "-perhaps yee'd care ta be part of -that is ta have a say…" he strung off with inconsistent babble that faded away to generous head motions ending with a ducked head, ears tipped as sugary pink as her face. "Though I understand why. Ye must be incredibly busy with yer own land and it is far too much ta ask of ye. An, honestly, who actually enjoys these meetings." He chanced a look at her through a nervous chuckle, and at the shocked look he received his head tucked away once more. "Apologies," came the mumble. "I'll just… I'll just finish these, then."

He coughed, stared down at the writing with an amazing amount of interest and hoped that was it.

His embarrassment switched to shaded anger when he looked up to see her expression unchanged. "What! I said I was sorry, you don't have ta-"

Bog was silenced by another mouth over his own. The paper fluttered merrily to his feet. She broke away first. "That, Mr. Bog King," she hushed, "was just about the sweetest thing you've ever asked me." They both were terrible with communication. But that didn't mean they didn't know what the other had said. Through his rant she had detected enough choice words to string together the sentence, _I want you to be a part of my world. My whole world._

"Uh…"

"And _yes_, I _will_ come to a council meeting."

"Um…"

"And I know how terribly stubborn my father is, but next we'll work on getting you to one of ours. It'll be good for an outside voice, anyway. Most of them are idiots." Then she peppered him with a chaste kiss and went back to work.

At least she tried to. In the end most of their scrolls ended up far below, stuck to the knobs of the tree roots below.

They'd given up on paperwork after that. So he'd shown her how to make a flower chain, snatching up blue poppies from the ground and grinning at her frustration. And when she teased him -_the Big Bad Boggy knows just has the most adorable hobbies_\- he'd plopped a pile of the unused rotted flowers atop her head and told her to _hush_ because his hobby would make her look like a Queen. And he would never have known what those words meant to her.

There had been songs. There had been giant gestures. There had been noise and sound and colors and events and adventures and trips. Somehow, compared to all of them, the smallest moments, dwarfed behind so many other cosmic explosions, were the ones that made her chest do little flip flops.

And that night, one tiny gesture had her glancing towards the spindly, sharp Goblin, whose skin caught against hers and whose claws combed through her hair and whose fangs grazed her neck and who was so entirely different as everyone told her over and over and over and over again until she couldn't help but nearly believe it-

She knew that she loved him. She was aware of that fact. It was as clear to her as the stars in the sky- a presence that is persistent in its knowledge though often unseen. But that night, watching him construct a crown of blue poppies, laughing and reading and talking of politics, she had a thought so terrifying and perfect that her breath caught in her throat and her wings stilled and she had to clarify the impossible several times over to make sure that it was true. And upon discovering its apparent realness she was not quite sure of what would transpire next.

She looked at Bog. She really looked at Bog.

_This_, said the tiny piece of her mind that was wholly and fully her, _is the person with whom forever is possible._

And one of those stars in her ever present I Love the Bog King Sky exploded into a nebula.

This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She had concluded, over politics nonetheless, a subject she despised as much as paper hearts and red streamers, that she was enough in love with the Bog, My Middle Name is Misery, King to wake up beside him daily and to be legally bind two differences so no one could call them anything but a pair. She wanted forever. The little hissing voice was out in a moments notice, shadowy hands flickering in static across her face. _**No you don't, it corrected. You're Marianne. You're the fierce warrior who hates lovey dovey things. You don't do forever. You do now.**_

And then Bog had looked at her, in the process of threading together the final flowers. "Marianne? Are ye alright."

_**No, you aren't. You're going to leave now before this gets out of hand. Leave before you want forever again.**_ The voice was thrumming her heart with talons and teeth. _**Once you want forever twice then you'll get it. And then what will you do?**_

_You'll live it,_ said the other voice._ You'll live for what you have. And you'll do it with him._

Those were words she had needed to hear. Because the terror turned into another just as fierce and the more she looked at him the more that seemed to grow until there was a fire in her belly and her eyes stung with appreciation. And she felt like a total idiot but she was fine with it.

He watched her, attempting to gauge a reaction. She had shaken her head, put it to her hands and let out a wet sort of laugh.

"Marianne! What's… what's- I didn't mean ta'-" The circlet of petals was by his side and his hands reached towards her. "Marianne?"

"Oh jeez," was all she could manage through the heavy laughs. "Aw jeez."

"Marianne. If it was something tha' I-?"

"No, no, nothing you did." She looked up, wiping away the lines that had no business being on the same face as the smile that split it. "I just… I just-" and she practically threw her arms around him. "I just love you so much."

They didn't say it often. Almost never. Gestures and touches and quiet words of appreciation were always their thing. But in these moments she was thankful for their frugal attitude. Because those words had an affect on him like no other. And when he sunk against her in a tighter than possible hug, she thought they fit together quite nicely.

The night had ended with her being crowned with blue poppies at her doorstep and a kiss to put all others to shame.

That morning, turning over in bed and stretching her limbs across the petals of the rose, knuckles grazing pearls, she was met with the sight of a dark blue crown on her bedside. It was the first thing she saw that morning, right before she decided that she felt beautiful. And it was the last thing she put on getting dressed, adjusting it in the mirror, and decided that she really was quite beautiful.

_Told you so_, said one voice to the other.

_**Hmph**_, the hiss exclaimed before turning its back to the meddlesome Hope.

* * *

The breakfast nook of the palace was filled with sunshine and it reflected off the plates of fruit with an agave gleam. "Good morning!" She grabbed Dawn from behind, capturing her shoulders and pressing a sloppy kiss on her cheek with an exaggerated, _mwah_!

"What's got into you?" Her sister rubbed off her face, but didn't hold back a curious smile. When was her sister _not_ smiling? "Someone's in a good mood!"

"What? I'm not allowed to be?" She plopped down beside her father, heaping fruit onto her plate. They had honeydew today. She _loved_ honeydew. In fact, she just about loved everything this morning. And she _especially_ loved-

"Your sisters right," her fathers look was not so much curious as intrusive and stood between her and her final thoughts on what she did or did not feel affection for. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Nope!" She bit into the melon.

"No… special event coming up?"

"Not that I know of." A bit of juice dripped down her chin and her tongue flickered out to catch what it could. "I'm just in a great mood! That's all!"

"But you're never in a _great_ mood," her sister pointed out, and she flicked at a slice of blueberry. "Ever. I mean… not like this at least."

"Well maybe I'm changing," Marianne pointed out and reached across the table to pinch Dawn's chin. "And you'll just have to get used to lovey-dovey Marianne. I'll sprinkle fairy dust in everyone's path and sing Sugar Pie Honey Bunch at the top of my lungs!"

Her father muttered something from beside her about blasted fairy potions and too catchy tunes.

"Besides, can't I go around telling people that I love them!"

"Not really."

"Well I do," she pointed an apple slice at the youngest of the royal family. "I love you," and the apple slice moved to point to their father, "and I love you! So there!" Then she bit the apple with a happy crunch and leaned back in her seat.

Father and youngest shared a look. He rose a brow. She smiled wickedly (and he was quick to note that for someone so sweet she did wicked far too well) and bounced in place, blonde hair raising and dropping in tiny ovations. Apparently she had a different opinion on the lovesick eldest. The Fairy King glanced at his father, attempting to scour out some hidden secret. His eyes fell to the top of her cheery person. Eyes squinted he raised a plump figure and remarked, "That is a rather bold choice in head-wear, isn't it?"

"What, this?" She touched the soft headdress, glad to see it holding up. "It's flowers. I thought you _liked_ me wearing flowers."

"I do. They're suitable for a fairy. But not ones so…" he struggled for a word, "morbid," he concluded with a nod. "Besides, I thought that buttercups were your favorite!"

"Dad, just because I happened to wear one _once_ does not mean it becomes my favorite. And these aren't morbid. They're pretty."

"They're too dark to be found out here in our land." Her teeth stalled around a piece of apple. She swallowed loudly, blinking large eyes up at him. "And since when did you ever know how to make a flower crown?"

"_Since never_," Dawn muttered. Marianne shot her a glare.

The King pointedly ignored the two, focusing instead on the crowned brunette beside him. "Are you sure that there's nothing you'd like to tell me, dear?" Her father tried once again. Marianne opened her mouth and for a moment she was in a good enough mood to blurt out her true feelings for a certain goblin in the Dark Forest. But she stopped herself. Her father disapproved. It almost ruined her move. Knowing what he'd say already. _**Are you sure?**_ She could almost hear his voice. _**You aren't thinking clearly. There are other eligible bachelors all over our kingdom. There are people who would want to marry you. People who are beautiful and romantic.**_

It almost ruined her mood that she couldn't explain to him in enough words that Bog was those two things- more those two things than anyone she'd ever met. The flower crown burned a ring around her head and the words helped to do the rest from the inside. She wanted to explain to him, _do you see how happy I am? Can you __**not**__ see how absolutely incredibly happy I am?_ Instead she looked at her plate and grabbed another apple, punctuating the air with a snap as her teeth bit through white flesh.

"No, dad," she sighed a smile. "There's nothing."

And her dad gave her a smile that said he obviously didn't believe her but couldn't prove why yet. And her sister gave her an all too knowing look that sent her stomach into knots.

"Hey dad," she added quickly, taking another bite of honeydew. "I'm going to be gone today."

"Today?" She was never gone during the day. Hardly ever. And her nighttime gallivants were unknown to him, though Marianne had her suspicions. He was all too aware of who she was with. And she was all too aware of his disapproval. "But we have a council meeting!"

"Let Dawn take over. She has to learn how to deal with trading and things."

"But they're asking about the Dark Forest today," and his voice lowered during a particular point of that sentence. "You know how those meetings go!"

"Yes, I am well aware. But still, Dawn needs to learn-"

"Aw _Marianne_!"

"Shush it, Missy. You do." Dawn flopped dramatically down into her seat, swooning. Her sister snorted. "I know those meetings can get heated, Dad. But have you ever thought for just one second that maybe it would be a good idea to bring B-"

"We are not bringing that… that **thing**… into our Council rooms."

"Dad!"

"Goodness knows what he would do." Her father scraped away the last bits of lemongrass jam from his plate with orange pulp. "For all we know he might hurt a diplomat or- or eat someone."

"Dad, Bog won't _eat_ someone."

"Nevertheless, all Council meetings will be discussed with fairies only and transcribed to the Dark Forest leaders through messengers. That's it. I will admit that this… phase you're going through adds some support when it comes to trading. But we can't trust them. The utmost caution has to be taken with their kind."

"_Utmost cau_-"

"Yes, Marianne!" He barely scraped her with his eyes, going to spoon another helping of lemongrass jam onto his plate. "Anything that looks like them is dangerous."

"Anything that looks like them!" She threw her hands up, grabbing the apple slice with more force than necessary. "Dad, can you even hear yourself?"

"I sorta think Boggy is neat," Dawn added tentatively.

"Bog."

The two were not listened to.

"Of course I do. I'm the King here, and I've seen too many wars with their kind to count."

"Wars or scrambles?"

"That doesn't matter. The point is that anything that acts like them and looks like them can't be trusted. And I don't want you going over there! You know how I feel-"

"Yes dad, I do know how you feel. And you also are very aware that I rarely listen to you about that." Before he could answer she snapped one last apple in half, grabbing a whole berry from the bowl in the middle and standing up. Her chair scraped the floor behind her. "Besides, I'm in too good a mood for you ruin this! I love you both! Don't wait up for me!" She gave her father a peck on the cheek, feeling his eyes on her back, his slack-jaw preventing a reply. She didn't mind though. As long as he didn't speak she didn't have to turn around to face him and he wouldn't see the look of pure joy on her face.

Pure, lovely joy.

If he'd seen that he may have figured it all out. And yet, somehow, she didn't quite care. She stepped outside, the sunlight warm and full on her face and breathed in the fresh grass. Strolling down the path she plucked a few leaves and flowers, working the stems together. How did her sister Dawn do it? Create those stupid boutonnieres with no seemingly tools or effort. She shrugged, taking off and collecting a few more green and yellow buds as she did. This wasn't the time to question anything. She just smiled at the sun and pressed the flowers together in her hand. Then, patting down the dark flower crown, she trained her wings towards the first signs of the Dark Forest, three words sliding around in her heart, threatening to spill over.

And maybe she was in a good enough mood to let them.

* * *

"Sorry, who are you?" Thang and Stuff stared up at the woman, heads tilted. "Sire doesn't usually take guests without a notice."

"Oh, he'll see me."

"Oh really," Stuff crossed arms across a moss green chest. "And what makes you so sure."

"Because," and she pushed past, "he's in love with me."

They watched her go, helpless to do much else.

"He's in love with _her_?" Thang watched her go, mouth twisting. "I thought he was in love with Future Queenie Marianne.

"Love is weird," Stuff said sagely.

* * *

The Bog King woke up in a fantastic mood.

He wasn't sure what it was, but when he sat up in his moss bed and stretched his long limbs he'd suddenly decided that he was quite possibly the happiest goblin in the world. Not that he could prove it or anything. But he was quite sure. No. He was positive.

He'd gotten next to no sleep the night prior. Possibly because that was in no way in accordance to a normal sleeping schedule. Creatures of the night were meant to be just that. Not to say he hadn't lived his life off of a fair share of power naps. The meeting was scheduled for late afternoon, though, and so he'd needed the day free.

And of course on this particular day his meeting would be intruded by one that was not an intruder. A partner by his side. The Bog King had never felt more excited about giving over responsibility before. The thought of sharing now was nothing short of fantastic. He'd have a driving force beside him. He'd fight beside one who supported him in every way.

He hadn't slept much at all. But that was simply because the words of I just love you so much ringing through his head and he'd woken up imagining partnerships of every sort and he'd stared at the ceiling for hours with a sloppy grin across his face. Everything, he'd decided, was beautiful. Everything was marvelous and fantastic and so beautiful. The sun shone through the trees with rare clarity and the forest was practically alight with a still fascinating calm.

"Guid mornin," he'd pecked his mother on the cheek on his way to the throne room and she stalled.

"Who are you and what have ya done to my son?" Said son's ragged smile, wider than she'd seen given to her in years, went green under the lights

"What! I'm not allowed ta say hello ta my darling mother?"

"Not usually," She cradled her hips with two hands and glared up at him. "What did you do?"

"Me!" His hands popped up in surrender. "Nothing! I didnai do anathin'! I'm just… in a good mood s'all!"

"Too good a mood." The goblin woman waggled a finger at her son. "Something happened, and I'm going to find out about it."

"Okay, mother," he practically sang, tapping his staff along the corridor as he moved along. "Now, if ye'll excuse me, Marianne is coming over t'day and I have ta-"

"Marianne!" He stooped over at the shriek. "Oh I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That's why you're so happy, _lover boy_."

"What? No, mother- I-"

"Oh this is fantastic! So, whens the wedding?"

"Mother, now is hardly the time to-"

"Right, right, sorry. I forgot how prudish you two were."

"Mother!" His face went bright maroon, clutched his staff to his chest like the best of barriers. "She is coming here to simply… keep me company while I plan border security and offer her opinion. This is a political meeting. _That's it_."

"Fine, fine. And I assume you want me out of the way." She crossed her arms and scowled. "Out of sight?"

"Far away out of the way."

"Right, of course. My own son doesn't want me to meddle in his life. His own mother, cast to the shadows like a regular boggart."

"Aw, c'mon mother. You know that I-" she turned away with a huff and he sighed. It was odd. This might have sent him into a fit, and he'd have thrown his hands up and stalked off to avoid her until he could bear to stand her once more. But today he was in a good mood. Today he had woken up with three words shouting through his head in a tidal wave that had to be released lest he burst. And this wasn't going to get in the way.

Kneeling beside her, craning his neck down to her height, he gave her another peck on the cheek. The Goblin softened immediately, uncrossing her arms and turning back to her boy. "_Please_, mother."

And that did it. She threw her hands up to the ceiling. "Ugh, fine. I'm out of the way. I'm silent."

"No streamers," he added for good measure.

"No streamers," she crossed her heart. A sigh. "You know I'm happy for you, Boggy. That you're with her."

"Bog." He hadn't though. He had assumed his mother was just happy that he was with anyone.

She ignored her son. "She makes you happy," Griselda patted his cheek. "And I missed seeing you happy."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile was soft. "I know, mother."

"Good. And do me one favor, son?"

"Yes, moth-ow!"

She smacked him upside the head with a sharp whack. "Stop being such a thick headed Goblin! I swear, you get this from your fathers side."

He rubbed at the sore spot, scowling. "What was-"

"We've been through this before. Tell her how you feel!"

"Marianne and I do tell each other." More than she would ever know. And the feelings in his gut did little barrel rolls and handstands.

"Really?"

"Yes! In… in other ways."

"Son, you've been t'gether for seven months. _Seven_. I'll be dead by the time you get married. And don't tell me that you tell her you love her all the time. The two of you are like worms, squiggling away from emotions." He flushed. "And before ya say anything, a few muttered admissions and a good roll around the old swamp grass doesn't count."

"_**MOTHER**_!"

"So maybe it does count a little. Oh stop looking so red faced. I'm old enough to know what goes on around here." She sighed. "You never talk about it. It's unhealthy. Trust me. Yer father _never_ talked about it. Gave that to you and look where you ended up."

"Yer confidence is breathtaking."

"I'm tellin' ya son. One day something is gonna happen and this is gonna come back and bite you. You need ta' be able to_ really_ say it."

A growl rumbled over and his wings buzzed forlornly. "We sang it once," he muttered in defense. His mothers look snapped his mouth shut for him.

"Someday son, you're gonna know the difference between love and _love_ and then you'll get what I'm saying. But for now I'll leave you alone to your thick headed prudish selves."

"We appreciate it," he muttered dryly.

His mother kissed his cheek, patted the side of his face. "Now go and have the rest of your stupid good day."

"I will," he sprang up. "And mother?"

"What is it now?"

She wouldn't get it. Or at least, she would, but the last thing that he needed was her squealing on and on about admissions and true love and grandchildren and marriage. But he did know the difference. And he was having a stupid good day because of it. And he was a stupendous heap of nerves and split ends and twitched smiles.

"Well?" she prodded, rolling her eyes. "Out with it."

He took a breath, stared down at the amber in the center of his staff. "Love you." The words were as rushed as his feet as he scuttled away, wings taking flight with a violent buzz.

Griselda stood another moment before dragging the fond smile across, splitting her face in two. She clapped square teeth together and wandered away down the hall. It was no doubt. Her son was an idiot. And his lady friend was an idiot. But they were both idiots together. And she loved those two idiots more than they'd know.

* * *

"Sire!" Stuff and Thang met him before he could stroll to the throne room. "We have news for you."

"You tell him."

"No you tell him."

"One of ye tell me somethin. I'm in a rush an' I dunnai mind busting heads."

"Right," Thang cleared his throat. "You have a visitor, sir."

Bog near rolled his eyes. "I've told you time and time again. Marianne is not a visitor. If she's here you don't have to announce her unless-"

"It's not Marianne, sir." Stuff rarely talked directly to him, and the action did not go without notice.

"The council isnaugh going ta be here fer hours. They're never earleh-"

"Not the council either, sir. She says that she-"

"She!"

"Yes sir. She."

Bog puzzled a moment. Some of the council was female, but they traveled as a group. And too his knowledge he hadn't made any friends. Marianne was the only female caller he'd had since his mother-

A groan that had resided in his gut for months found its way out. "I swear, if this is one'a mothers matches… Must have gotten the memo late," he spat. "Right. I'll deal with it."

"Sir, I think you should know that-"

"I'll deal with it!"

The doors slammed under his weight, staff clunking along the floor following his feet. "Right, whoever ya are. So sorry to ruin yer hopes, but yer a lost cause and I'll have ta ask ya ta leave 'fore I have my guards dui it for ya." No one moved. He saw a shadow move to his left. "What'd I say! I want ya ta lea-"

"Hello there Boggy."

He nearly dropped his staff. No correction came forth. The voice did enough to seal his tongue down. That voice… That voice. He hadn't heard it in years. But it was the same. The same tenor, the same octave, the same generous heft of syllables through a painted mouth. She stepped into the light and the light caught her skin, white spots shimmering vermillion beneath it.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Ah." Said Bog.

* * *

The boutonniere was hideous, she decided when her feet touched precipice outside his palace. It was terrible. And that just made her happier. The familiarity of the joke was nearly too much for her. Dawn had offered, earlier on, to help design one for her and had recoiled most violently when Marianne had said, "No. I want to make it. The uglier the better, right?"

Apparently that was not the case.

But it was the best gesture she could think of. In a way they'd bonded first over the hideous thing Dawn had made for him. Why shouldn't she be allowed to make something just as painful on the eyes.

"Bog?" Her call through the door went unanswered. "Someone in there? _Hello_?" Nothing.

She wandered through the doors in search of the Bog King. The ring of poppies atop her head looked like a weight when she entered the shadows. And when she heard the shouting -no doubt the man was arguing with yet another of his many available victims- she ignored the voice that tried to interject.

_Somethings wrong_, it said. _Something is very wrong._

She was too excited to notice that it had not been the hiss.

* * *

Krakella was as beautiful as he had last remembered her for a total of seven and a quarter seconds. Those had been used up to verify exactly who was standing in front of him. And once the seven and one quarter second had passed his present situation leaked pink dust from his eyes and helped him to blink away a historic image caught in his brain.

The idea had never occurred to him to think of his first love as anything but beautiful. And to think it now was foreign. She'd been trapped as a constant in everything that he was. She stood there and he could smell the primroses in the back of his mind, see the pink glow ebb from her slick skin.

"It's been a long time," she repeated. Her webbed feet made little slapping sounds against floor. Her hips swayed, paunch hanging over her waist unmarred by curves, edges. She smiled. The red stretched. Fangs bared. He ran a tongue over his teeth, feeling the same still there, intact, similar. She came closer, stopped in front of him.

It had been a long time. The last time they'd parted was on the terms of a primrose potion. She'd left him, running far away. And for so long he'd thought back on it with a feeling of helpless dread. He'd been left without love. Without another person like him. Someone similar.

_Similar._

_**Will you look at that! A match! **_Oh how Bog hated that cruel, hissing voice. But he didn't stop it. _**It does feel good to see a match after so long, doesn't it?**_

_Marianne_, the sensible voice chimed in. _She's different. That is what you like, isn't it._

It was odd how true that statement was. Years ago, starting at the Frog Woman in front of him, a resident of the Dark Forest, a creature of the woods, he would not have wished for anything but the same. Same was comfortable. Didn't challenge you. Gave in to love potions and didn't ask questions. Same was something you could fall against.

Different had been evil. Different was challenging. Different sneered and spat and picked and prodded.

She noticed his silence, lidded her eyes and purred. "Oh Boggy… I've been such a fool. You must be wondering why I'm back, mustn't you?"

"Uh…" was all he managed.

"I heard about some recent dealings with the other kingdoms. There's been all these rumors around that they're off your back now." She trailed her fingers across his throne, moving about it, eyes on him. "I think it's great. Admirable. You finally have some time on your hands that isn't chopping down primroses."

"Ah-yeah…" he blushed. "Sorry. About that, I mean. Not… not the truce. The- ah- you know."

"Oh, it's fine," she waved it off. "I didn't come here to yell at you about it. What you did was… justified."

His face twisted. "Pardon."

"I mean, you were only doing what was best, right? Trying to get me with the right man."

"I would hardly call my methods admirable."

"Well I would. And for the first time in a long time, I'm finally seeing clearly." She stepped down from the throne. Moved towards him. "I finally think I understand why you did it. And… I think I want to try again."

Bog's face clouded. Head tilting, neck letting out a few lone cricks, he blinked at her. "Sorry. I don't understand."

She sighed. It sounded soft, inviting. Too calculated. "I've come back here to see you. To tell you that I missed you. Find out if maybe… just maybe… we could…" one of her hands lightly gripped at his forearm. His spikes didn't catch. They wouldn't catch on her skin, nor would his nails graze or his sharp elbows and knees jab. He looked down at the hand, slicked by mucus, slime. So intriguing so long ago. So similar in its own right. "We could, you and I, try again."

And the hand burned. He jumped back. "Krakella. I- It's lovely to see ye. Really. But… but perhaps this isnaugh the best of times. I think maybe ye should-"

"You aren't asking me to go, are you?" She advanced. Her hips swung. Marianne's hips never swung like that. She scoffed at ladies who did it, much more comfortable with a sword in her hand then her hand against her waist, sashaying along. "You're still the shy little goblin I remember. You do remember don't you? Our time together?"

"Ye fell in love with someone else." That was clear now. He knew that now. It wasn't you, the calm voice reasoned. Just remember that. It was never you.

_**Hideous.**_ The hiss tried to get out a word but was snuffed quickly. What would Marianne think if she knew he'd thought that about himself?

_Marianne._

"Oh come on, Boggy. That was never real love!" Marianne never called him Boggy. Only when she teased him. Only when she knew. Never like that.

"Bog." he corrected it in the fairies place.

He was ignored. "It was a little fling! That's all! I loved you the whole time."

"That-" he licked his lips. "That isn't possible." Because it wasn't. Because this would all be a different story if it had been.

"It is! It really is!"

"I don't believe you."

"Oh _Boggy_," she pouted her red lips which, the more he looked at, he was beginning to decide that they didn't look as kissable as he last remembered. And they were a lot more… pouty… Marianne rarely pouted. It took away from the glares she favored in their place. "If I didn't, why would I be back here?"

"I don't-"

"I'm here to apologize! To beg for your forgiveness! I want you back!"

"What happened to-"

She snorted, snipping his sentence away. "Oh, him? We didn't work out after all. Seems in the end we were just too…" she struggled to find a word. "…_different_."

Different.

Different was what Marianne treasured in him. Different was what she whispered in his ear, telling him that he was perfect, amazing, lovely the way he was. Telling him never to change. Ever. Different was their hands clasped together, their bodies entwined, his nails in her hair and her skin on her own. Different was awful and magnificent and- and-

And just like that Krakella, once the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, was no longer beautiful.

Fairies and Goblins had their own idea of beauty. And in his eyes there had always been the glaring idea that Marianne, in her own right, was pretty enough. By fairy standards he was sure -he supposed- she held something of a nice face. He certainly wasn't sure of her thoughts on him, but would have chanced bets on the negative. He hadn't even realized that he thought of Marianne as wholly beautiful until Krakella stood in front of him and became just the opposite. Everything he had imagined beauty to be was held in a former love from years ago.

_She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen_, he told the fae once. And he'd believed it.

Now he'd realized that he'd seen better.

More than that, his idea of beauty had seemed to stretch its limbs, wave solemnly goodbye and walk to the door to let a new creature in. And with a nod it was gone, replaced by the new occupant who smiled sagely from its place and proceeded to go about its duty of planting new images in the fibers of his being, snapping and cutting away the remnants of past that had stuck fast. Beauty was more than external. He already knew that.

But Marianne wasn't just beautiful. She _was_ Beauty.

He steeled his nerves. "Krakella," the name almost didn't make it past his lips, but he managed with force. "It was… lovely ta see ya."

"Bog, don't tell me you're asking me to leave again." A hand against her hip she jabbed a finger on his chest. "Last time I checked, you owe me one." Eyes slitted, he could practically smell the rage coming off of her- smothered in lust. "You were the one who tried to force that potion on me remember."

"It was stupid," he agreed. "And- and I'm dearly sorry. Truly, truly sorry. But," he continued, "Yee're a wee bit late."

"What do you mean," she giggled. Marianne never, ever, ever giggled. "What, have you fallen in love or something." His silence told too much. "Wait… you've fallen in love!"

"Aye. I have. I've fallen in love," and didn't that feel good to say out loud. "So if ye could see yerself out-"

"Who!" The lust in her eyes shifted to something redder. "There's no way! You told me that you only wanted me!"

"That was a long time ago," his sniffed. "Ye found someone else. So did I."

"He was too different! Didn't you listen to me!"

"Yeh. Fortunately, my… parson is also different."

"Your person." She raised a brow, attempting casual. He didn't miss her curled fists. "Oh please, how terribly different could she be? She's from the Dark Forest-"

"Naugh."

"No?"

"Naugh. She's from the Fairy Kingdom. Now if ye could-"

"The Fairy Kingdom!" Her shriek was not appreciated whatsoever. His ears rebelled and he winced. "You found yourself a… a fairy!"

"I… did."

"Oh no. No, _no_, _**no**_. Bog. We _hate_ fairies. They _hate_ us."

"She doesnaugh hate me."

"She must!"

"I assure you-"

"They're all the same!" She threw green limbs through the air, stalking back and forth in her place. "They're all vain, stupid, air headed-"

"Watch it," he growled.

"They are! They're not good for anything."

"You watch your tongue."

"I can't believe you're defending them!"

"I'm naugh defending them. I'm defending har."

"They're all the same!"

_They're all the same._ It rung around his head with linked hands and he growled. What had he ever seen in her. How had he allowed himself to fall so far, so fast. He backed away, pointing his staff towards the door.

"Get. Out."

"Boggy-"

"Bog," he was snarling now. How dare she. How dare this woman come into his palace simply to insult his love. His claws bared, teeth ground. What had he ever seen in her? What had he ever wanted. Some fake love with someone as narrow minded, infuriating, spine numbing, brain dead- "Get out. Before I dui somethin I won't soon regret."

"I won't let you do this to yourself. I _love_ you."

"You know _nothing_ of love."

"And you do?" Before he could answer she moved closer, new words cobbled against a fiery tongue. "I know that it won't let me watch as you… you give up everything to some stupid… stupid fairy!" She hopped closer.

"Krakella, this is your last warning."

He didn't hear the door open from behind him. Couldn't see the shadows shift.

Krakella was all he could see. And she moved quickly towards him, face so set in determination it shone. "And this," she declared firmly, "is mine." And before he could do anything about it, her hands were around his neck and her mouth was on his.

He didn't have a chance to see the fairy who stood just a few feet away.

* * *

Marianne rushed through the halls. She swooped, dove and landed outside of the throne room doors where voices rang through. Her chest fluttered. She adjusted the crown, pushed hair from her face. It was just a normal day. Except that it wasn't. It would never be a normal day again. Not after last night. Not after today. This was beyond anything she had ever experienced, and it hit her with the weight of a perfect and beautiful truth. And she was bursting with too much emotion for her to even comprehend. Maybe there was pollen from newly growing primrose petals or perhaps she'd had too much wine the night before. But oh she couldn't stop it and she didn't want it to stop.

So she threw open the doors, wings fluttering. "Hey, Bog!" Her voice collided with air pockets through the room and bounced back, "You'll never guess what Dawn taught me to make! And you lost yours so I decided to make you your o-" A breath. "Oh."

Bog was standing there. And she was standing there. And her hands were places where Marianne had believed only she had power over. Selfishly believed she was the one. Foolishly believed she had been the one. And she remembered her face even though it was locked over his. Remembered it through a blue cobweb enchanted shield telling her stories of vulnerability and she had fallen for it.

She had fallen for it _again_.

She hates how they are kissing. She hates how close they are. How the green hands have the right to move along shoulders and arms where only her hands were allowed. She hates how his wings pop out in a way she thought only she could do. She hates… she hates…

She hates how, watching them for only a second, her mouth fits better over his than hers ever could and the textures of their skin match up, and when she touches his shoulder, his chest, the hooks of spokes and spikes and splinters and knobs don't catch her skin, but they smooth over. And she hates how that looks more right than wrong.

The boutonniere slips from her fingers but she doesn't notice it.

The kiss breaks when his claws hit her shoulders and Marianne watches in the same cruel fascination as the sharpened ends barely graze her slick skin. "What," Bog had growled, "d'ya think ye- you-" And he saw her. "No." The first time he says it its slow. But the next ones come out easily, the cork pulled from the lip of the bottle. But what comes out is fermented, _no no no no no's_, and she doesn't want to hear them because they're too sour and stale.

And when he says her name -how dare he say her name- she opens her eyes to him and all she sees is flashes of green armor and grassy fields and a beautiful maiden that isn't her, could _never_ be her. And there is such hurt in her eyes that he has to stop. He might not realize that she doesn't see him. He doesn't realize that all she's seeing is blonde and green and red. But he tries anyway to get through the shell that quickly making its way up her body encasing her.

"Marianne! Please! I- I didn't!-"

"Be quiet."

"Ye dunnai understand!"

"Shut up!"

"It wasn't- I would never-""

"STOP!" And he does. The end of his staff hits the floor with a mighty thud. And she's seeing too much blonde and red and green, but just enough space for the bark and the teeth and the bluer than the sky blue to seep in. And that was when it began to hurt more. The mixture of colors -_green and blue_\- and textures -_smooth and rough_\- and feelings -_what have I done wrong_\- was drowning her.

Marianne shook her head, trying to get rid of all of the color stuck behind her eyes. Tried to calm the roar in her ears.

"Marianne, you have to understand."

"I don't have to understand anything," she spat, surprised she could even find her voice from behind all this color. "You- you were-"

"Please," and he's begging now. And she cannot stand begging. Her hand is on the hilt of her sword. The rational side of her brain, one not yet taken over by all this blaring, blinding, burning color tries to sooth what it can. Listen to him, it says. Isn't that what you're supposed to do.

_**Too late for that**_, the hissing imp lounging in the pool of neons said lazily.

_It's never too late. He listened to you. That's why you love him, isn't it? Because he really, really listens to you?_

And it looked like that side might have actually had a fighting chance. Her guard began to lower, eyes began to soften. The colors still ached around her but she did her best, she really did, to see past them. Because she couldn't see past them. She couldn't see him. He came closer and she stood still, waiting, not sure what to do next.

_Give him a chance_, the voice was back, feeling the rise of heat under her collar.

_**No more chances. Chances make you weak. Remember when you used to be weak? **_

She did remember. And she had hated it. And then Bog had reached out his hand tentatively and had muttered, "Come on, Marianne," and all bets were off.

Her sword came out with a _shing_ and his staff was a defense. From his stance she guessed that was all he'd be doing. Just taking blow after blow after blow, and she could deliver. She wanted to scream at him. And she was going to, sword drawn for no real reason but to have the comforting weight in her hand she glared him down with enough spite to bowl over an army. Hands clenched, target in sight, she was ready to unleash hell and ask, no, _demand_ why he had done what he'd done. And then she'd spar him with real ferocity and fly home and grow a new shell and never speak to him ever a-

"Is _that_ her!"

The voice stopped both in their tracks. Marianne looked over to the frog woman who sauntered, hips swinging, and attached herself to the Bog Kings arm. He was too surprised to shake her off, so he didn't. But his body went rigid, wings buzzing a moment before stilling on his back.

The Frog Woman, whatever her name was, and Marianne did not care in the least _thankyouverymuch_, gave the fairy girl an up down and scoffed. "I can't believe that's the reason why you didn't come running back to me. Ugh!" And she leaned against him, leering. "It's hideous!"

And the anger that had been building up inside her just slipped away.

The heat from her head and chest oozed out of her veins. She felt it run cooler and cooler until the ends of her fingers were numb. And it collected at her feet, weighing them to the floor and in her eyes, prodding them until they stung. Her sword lowered, scraping the petrified floors. Her jaw slacked, trying to find words of defense. Nothing came. So she fell silent.

It hurt more that he didn't say a word.

_**Which is fine**_, said the darker voice, shading its eyes from all the colors. _**Do you even want him to?**_

And the other voice trembled, thinking of a suitable, moral and practical response. But there were just so many colors. And now they had blended together and she could no longer tell them apart. Two became one and that one had mixed to create something dull and vulnerable and stupid and ugly. It was the color of _How Could You Fall Twice_ and it dripped a freezing trail of threads down her spine.

Her arms tugged up by invisible strings to form around her, shrinking. The Frog Woman made a noise in the back of her throat, scoffing. "Honestly, Bog. Look at her! A _fairy_! They're all tiny hands and feet and- really how can that waist support anything." A snort. Marianne looked down, arms moving their position to try and cover as much as they could. This was the view of fairies from goblins. And now she was hearing it out loud. She'd known that tastes in appearance had been different. He'd glanced over it and her father had given her one too many lectures about it.

It had simply never been spelled out with her as a victim of the harsh criticism.

But she was not done. "So ugly. How can you even stand to be near it?" She shuddered. "And to think, you actually kiss that thing. Well, not anymore," she chirped, brushing off his scaled shoulders as if to wipe away any residue left behind by the fae. "Now you're with someone a little more fit to your… ehm… standards."

_**Do you still want him to?**_ The hiss didn't bother to rise at the mock insistence, knowing the answer.

And looking upon the man, pleading as if his life sat on a line and his wings were held aloft as a prize, a decision of the more sensible voice had been made. _No_, said the gentle voice, retreating into the shadows and letting the colors take over. _No, we don't. _

She looked up at him, both of them hardly moving. His hands raised, mouth opened, teeth flashed. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything at all. Her hand went up, sliding the flower crown from her head and wringing it between her hands.

"Why don't you run along then, fairy," the Frog teetered her hands, fingers wiggling. "Go back and find yourself some blonde hero or something." Turning to Bog, "You know how the fairies are, don't you Boggy. I mean, just look at her wings. They can't help but be vain." She turned, noticed Marianne and rolled her eyes. "Well! Didn't I say to scoot?"

He didn't correct her on his name.

And Marianne, out of spark Marianne, doesn't know what to do Marianne, please don't let this be real because my heart cannot break twice Marianne, did as she was told. She turned and walked out. The flower crown fell from her fingers in a heap, her boot flattening two of the buds underneath and muffling her steps.

"There," he watched her go, a voice at her ear. "That took care of that, didn't it?"

He wasn't even sure of what was happening past the roar in his ears. But he did remember calling for guards, snarling to have her evicted from the palace, kept away forever. He remembered her calls of regretting his choices. And he remembered agreeing.

His staff stuck in a crevice beside him he'd lifted off, grabbing the wreath and the boutonniere from the floor and taken off down the tunnels.

"What happened!" His mother had run along underneath him. "I saw Marianne running out! What did you do!"

"Something I have to fix." He made his way out. "If ye see a familiar goblin being dragged out just look tha other way."

"What are you talking about!" But he was gone, moving through the trees, cutting through the sunlight that spied down, clucking its tongue against the leaves, a teasing sort of sparkle in its spotlight.

* * *

Marianne had not walked for long.

She'd gotten to the mouth of the skull and walking was no longer an option. It hurt to walk. Made her all too aware of the weight in her chest.

Her toes caught soil and she'd broken into a run. Mud splashed across her boots and speckled her wings and legs. She tripped on a pebble, not watching where she was going, just running, running, running, and her hands dug into moss, forming around her fingernails. Her wings flew out at her sides and she'd taken off into the air. Thorns caught the violet, slowing her, and the constant whipping assault of branches against her legs and arms made her curl into herself. She flew faster, stronger, harder than she had in too long. Everything burned in a perfect harmonic agony, directed by a heart racing fast for reasons she wasn't sure.

She nearly fell when another figure jumped out in front of her.

"Marianne, please!"

"Move, Bog." Her arms tightened around herself. She sounded weaker than she wanted, but she was done yelling. "I'm leaving."

"I need ta' explain. It wasn't- it wasnaugh what it looked like."

"How was it not what it looked like." She stared deftly at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes. Their voices swept the trees, carried by stray winds that smelled like dirt and dew. "You were kissing her."

"Yeh! Tha' part was wha' it looked like, but not what you think! She-"

"Is the girl you love."

"Ye- what! Naugh! Why would you-"

"That is her, isn't it?"

"Who?"

She swallowed, focused at a spot near her feet. "The girl that you were- she's the one that you loved."

"Well yes, but you remember Sugar-Plum! It wasnaugh real! It would never-"

"Just move, Bog."

"Marianne-"

"I trusted you! But you… you played me!" And both of them startled back at the words they'd near forgotten. She recovered first, tearing at her hair. "How could I have been so stupid. We're too different. That's what she said, isn't it? That we're too different!"

"Don't ye dare think that-"

"Maybe she's right. Why not go back to her since you like kissing her so much."

"Stop!"

"You played me and I fell for it! _I fell for it_. _**Again**_!"

He didn't think to question why again. Why it had happened before. Because he could never recall a time where he'd once let it happen. Nothing in his memory pointed at him and said traitor. Yet her words bunched together and called out against the cruel repetition.

"You don't understand," he tried again. "If ye'd just listen to me-" Angry. He was so angry. Because she wouldn't listen.

"I don't want to listen to you!" Angry. She was so angry. Because he would never understand.

So she flew under him. Swooped away. He tried to get in her way, arms outstretched, pleading and anger in his eyes all at once, a cocktail too complex to even speak of. He didn't get a chance. Her hands were at his shoulders and with more strength than she'd ever used she pushed against the propellers of his wings and he fell back against the sky. He stopped. _Stuck_.

The spiderweb had caught him only a few inches away. But it was enough time for her to turn and fly.

"Marianne, wait!" But she was already past the trees.

* * *

She landed on the grass and felt no inclination to do much anything but kneel there, chest heaving. The place where her wings met her back burned something fierce and her lungs cried for air. Mud soaked through the fabric into knees, the dark brown going darker with the water. The air had gone cold and heavy. She sat there and breathed in the heavy air, trying to let something fill her up because she was so empty all of a sudden and feeling emptier by the second. It hadn't been like this before. There had always been that doubt before, and that doubt had been ready to create holes within her so that empty had been something she'd been used to.

She should have stayed used to it.

She did walk the rest of the way home. The weight was something she couldn't beat and it held her down. Hurt, stung, but prevented her from feeling much else.

"Marianne-?" Her sister met her at the door, and she was grateful for small miracles. If it had been her father she would have had a lecture on how he had been right all along. And that was hardly what she needed. Not now. Especially not now. But it was her sister instead, and she stood at the archway, arms crossed, worry embedded into those pretty eyes of hers.

Beautiful eyes.

Was everyone just better for the world than she was today.

"Marianne? What happened! You're so dirty! Did you fall or something?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Or something…"

"Aren't you supposed to be with Bog today? Is he here?"

No answer. She tried to step past but Dawn blocked her.

"Marianne, what's… what's wrong."

The eldest shuffled past, not stopping to look at the younger. "I'm going to go take a nap," the whisper did not come without the gravel caught in her mouth, choking her. The halls heard it and swirled it around a moment before it dissipated into a whisper of told you so… told you so… told you so… "I just… I want to be alone, okay?"

"What happened!"

"I don't want to talk about it." She began to climb the steps. Her sister followed. "Please just… I want to be alone."

"Marianne, please, don't shut me out again," and Dawn sounded as broken as her at that moment. "The last time this happened- I still don't know what happened and you changed, and please I can't have you change again!"

"I won't change…"

"You promise?"

She received no reply. Marianne reached the second floor. Her room pulled for her down the hall and she followed its beckoning calls.

"Marianne, please! At least tell me what happened!"

"I'll tell you later, okay?" She was done talking about it. She hadn't started but she was done. She'd lived it once. She had never imagined that there would ever be an encore and she'd be watching, stuck to a front row seat as the characters of the vision lived out cruelly in front of her. Speaking of the matter would do nothing to stamp down the colors, the sounds, the feelings. "But right now… I want to be alone…"

"Marianne, please _don't_-!"

The door clicked shut and the sound of a turning lock followed.

Dawn stood there a moment before sighing and trotting away. It was unfair. It was completely unfair. Some people simply were meant to have all the heartbreak. And her sister, her always too protective, too generous, too much sister seemed to open her arms, face forward and take it for all the world.

* * *

"I don't know what you did to her, but I really don't care." Dawn stood hidden behind a half open door. The blonde had been wary of him long after their first introduction. And this situation did nothing to advance their relationship.

"I need ta see her."

"You don't need to do anything but go back to the stupid forest you came from." He growled and an _eep_ popped out of her lips, her temporary bout of fury replaced with caution. The door went to slam shut. He stuck his foot in, barely feeling as the two met.

"I need to see har," he trained his voice, keeping as much of the growl as he could at bay. Desperation was leaking through. And though he rarely liked showing that to anyone, there was only so long one could go without breaking rules. Especially in times of need. "Please. She doesn't understand-"

"She seemed to understand fine."

"But she doesn't! She doesn't- there was- I never meant-" he pinched his jackknife nose, took a breath. "I want ta fix this. Alright? I want to fix this."

Dawn twisted her lip. Thought. "What if… what if she doesn't want to. Are you going to take her away." She looked behind him, as if ready to see two crones carrying a burlap sack.

"No. I'll leave."

"You promise."

"Kings honor."

Dawn didn't look happy. But then again, neither did any of them. She did consent in moving away from the door though, watching the goblin rush past her, a mumbled thanks falling around her feet.

_He is so lucky Dad isn't here_, the blonde thought, watching at he clumsily navigated the halls and calling out to him when he took a wrong turn. _No one would survive._

* * *

Marianne was miserable.

She had woken up feeling great. Now she was just miserable. And apparently the world did not feel like mirroring her emotions. Outside a bird chirped against a robin eggs blue sky. A few cheery bubbles from a river swam through. There was singing, most likely from the elves down the way. She buried her head, covered her ears. Her forehead fell flat to her knees.

She didn't move when a hesitant knock proclaimed itself on her door. "Dad… I don't want to talk now… Just… just-" she sniffled. "I'll be down soon, okay?"

There was no answer. Her arms went around her head. Her father had most likely went to go console Dawn who was no doubt furious at her. And she could not handle that right now. She closed her eyes, glad for the darkness, but hating it all the same.

"Marianne?"

Her head snapped up and she scrambled away from the door only to remember it was locked, but she barely relaxed. Her breath stalled, heart slamming woefully to try and get through her chest, unlock the door and sing a million praises she would never let it.

That was not her fathers voice.

"Marianne…?"

That was not her sisters voice.

"Marianne, please."

It was a miracle that she found her own. "Go away." It came out jagged, croaked from sore lungs.

This was not right. She had to hate him. This was how it had to go. When she'd found Roland she'd left and that had been the end of that. She'd waited long enough to change, to become something she had always been. She had isolated herself, buried away until blooming once more- better, stronger. This was to be her second metamorphosis. It was more painful, but it was to be her path to a person she did not know yet. He was supposed to go away and let her, not be at her door, stopping her from enduring it all over again.

Roland never came back to her after she'd seen him. She'd never know if she would have taken him back. But he'd never come. Never knocked on her door begging forgiveness or explaining what had gone wrong. He'd just waited until he'd gotten bored with the fairy girl and had tried once more to squirm his way through her chest. And by then she'd had enough time to form a chrysalis and watch it harden. And he couldn't get through. No one could.

Except for the Bog King.

And some part of her waited for him not to come back and to get bored of someone and run to her out of the blue professing his love. But he hadn't. He was at her door. And he was knocking, calling her name. And he was everything Roland wasn't. And she wasn't sure to be relieved or hate him all the more for that. Why couldn't he just let the second layer coat over her and harden and hollow her out.

"Marianne, please. Open tha door."

"Go away," and she hated how pathetic she sounded. "Just… just _go away_."

"I will. I'll dui anathin. But please… please let me explain."

"I don't want you to explain," it was meant to sound bitter, but it was anything but lassitudinous. "I want to be alone."

"I'll go away!" he was inexorable. She heard his claws click on the door. "I will! I promise. Just… just please let me explain."

And Marianne, being filled with enough ineffable grief to spill over, simply sat back against the door and waited. There was a moments passing of silence. Then a very slow _hissing_\- a _shushing_ of hard back, wings, bones and sharp edges sliding against something flat, smooth. He was sitting against the door now, his back to her. She closed her eyes trying hard to imagine him away and feel him against her all at once. The heavy quiet was an invitation. He took it.

"She… she came ta me…" his accent was a murmur, but the door was thin and nothing was hidden between them but sight. She looked down at the slats of light from under, cast in from the hall, and saw the static of his hands drumming, feet twitching, interrupting the swath of halcyon gold. "I didn't know she'd be there." She heard a buzz followed by quiet rumble of wings forgetting their place and hitting wood. "I didnaugh know she'd be there-"

"And that makes it okay-"

"No!" She could see his blue eyes open, try to backtrack and find new words to hold onto. "Naugh of course not. But… I didn't think that she'd do that either. I was trying to get har to leave. She grabbed me. Ye… ye walked in when she… you know-"

"When you kissed her."

"When she kissed me."

Marianne fumbled with the edge of her wing. She felt tired. Worn. Rubbed away from the world. Only one other time had she felt like that. "I found Roland with another girl, you know." It came out without any reason. And she hadn't really wanted to say it. But it had come out, cascaded off of her shoulders and into the air and once out it hung like a frustrated monster, infuriated that she had shared it to the world.

She heard him take in a breath, and the compunction mulled itself with rage to create such a breathtaking feeling she nearly bowled over.

"When?"

"On the day of our wedding."

She heard him growl and wasn't sure why she was happy for it. He had no right, as far as she was concerned, to feel rage towards the man… a man like…

But she could not do it. As angry as she was, as heartbroken as she would be for days to come, he would never be Roland. Ever. He was too kind. Too sweet. Too shy and misunderstood and caring and doting and too many things to mention that were all distinctly Not Roland that to compare him to the leech would be cruel.

"I just- I went to go give him a present. Or… I don't know… something like that. And he had been telling me how he wanted to see me and couldn't wait to get married and I was so unsure but… but I knew that was stupid because he was so good looking and he had told me that he… you know… he told me a million times over. And I _believed_ it. And then I went to go give him the gift-" she had never talked about this, she realized. Not once. Not to anyone. And the more she talked the more she remembered. "There was another girl there," she explained slowly. "She was… she was beautiful. I remember that she was beautiful. And then I ran. And he didn't come back until the night before-" she swallowed.

"Marianne-"

"It was a while before I saw him again."

"Oh."

"Anyway, my dad was mad that I didn't marry him."

She heard Bog snort. "Why?"

"He wanted me to be with someone." She wiped at her eyes. "He was handsome. Rich. He could lead an army. It was a good match."

"Seems like terrible reasons."

"And he was so angry at me when I came back." She burst out a wet sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob . "It's such a stupid tradition. I mean, we live in mud most days. But… but on wedding days Fairies wear these white dresses. And he got so angry that I got mine dirty. But I just got rid of it."

"I'm sure ye looked lovely." She wanted to despise him for that comment. He was just trying to butter her up and soften her down to nothing. But it had sounded sincere. Soft. And she could nearly see him with the cogs churning trying to imagine her shrouded in white folds of incandescence. And most likely failing. White had never been her color.

"I stuck out. Especially in the Dark Forest when I-" she stalled. Oh. She had never told him that. She heard his nails stall.

"Tha Dark Forest?"

"Oh… ah… yeah. I- I was just kind of lost. I was so happy. Or- I don't know. I was something. And I just wasn't looking where I was going and I ended up in the bottom of a ditch holding a petal-"

"You were the fairy." And though he barely sounded any less desperate, guilty, she could hear the humor. "They told me a fairy had tried to steal a primrose."

"Yeah… that was me."

"Odd how things would have been different if I'd strolled down to say hello."

Her chuckle was real, as was his, and it helped. At least a little. She hugged herself, wings fluttering about her shoulders, bobbing against the door. Too soon after not a scintilla of a grin was to be found. "I didn't ever get why he did it."

"Because he was an arrogant fool who desarved his wings ripped off," she could see the flare of fury behind blue, hear his claws retracting, jaw jutted.

She couldn't share in his rage. She'd been angry. She'd done it years ago. And now she was done hosting hatred with the born again Narcissus. She wiped at her face again and wondered why she was still crying. "I guess… but… but it hadn't mattered. I just… I wasn't good enough. I've never been good enough. And then I think I might be and I see him there with someone who's better and… and…" a beat. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Bog. It's okay. You don't have to-"

"No, Marianne, ye didn't do anathin wrong! Not even a little! You listen to me," She heard him turn, his hand pressed against the door. "It was nevah you. It was always him. Always. You coulda done everythin' different and it still would'a ended with him going about doin that. That was who he was. And honestly, I dunnai undarstand why."

"Understand what?"

"How could he even look at another when he had ye?" And cheesy as it was, it was so sincere she was near rhapsodic. Another sob made its way up and this time she didn't hold it back, coming out as a sort of an ugly choke. "Marianne! Don't- I didn't mean-!"

"No… I- I- you didn't do anything-" and her lip quirked up regardless of how much complete sorrow was everywhere. And why oh why did she feel so completely in love with this man after what he'd done. She had trust issues. She knew that. So how was it that after seeing… that… she was so willing?

"Marianne… I swear. I swear I didn't mean for it to happen. I dunnai… I don't lo-" he swallowed. "I don't _love_ her." And she knew that had too much of everything to say. "I didnaugh mean for it. Ye have to believe me."

"I do." And even she jumped up at her words. She heard him spin round, a small sound of success and hope breathed from between his fangs, flattened. She was even more surprised to find that she really did. She did believe him. He wouldn't have done it. He would have never done that to her. And how could she think he ever had.

Then why was it she still felt so hopelessly lost. She wrung her hands together. Stared down at her soft skin.

And then she knew exactly why. "It looked right." The words were meant for herself- a discovery. He shared it.

"What-?"

"The reason why- I just- I saw you together and… you two… you looked so… _right_."

"… Marianne…?"

"You fit together." Her fingers wound round each other. She looked right with you. And you looked right with- you looked right together."

"Come on. You don't mean that!" Desperate. Scared. Understanding. "You don't."

"I do! You could have… you could have had her but you ended up with me. A fairy." A few drops fell off her cheeks, another embedding itself in the hairline above her ear. She swiped at them stubbornly. "You were so in love with her. She was your first. She came back for you. You could save your image and you could work together- fit together better than… than-" and she couldn't finish.

There was silence on the other side. She wondered for a moment if he had left. Or maybe he was thinking about it. Her chest hurt.

"I get if you want to leave," and her voice is so soft it barely catches against her own ears. "That woman… she's more beautiful." She wiped at her eyes and tried to conceal a sniffle but it hardly worked. "Some of your subjects explained it to me. And she made that very clear. That both lands have this… this _standard of beauty_." Those words were filled with poison and packed away so as to leave no room for her. There wasn't room for her in either world, she was learning. And there never would be. "She's beautiful, Bog. And… and if you want to be with her I wouldn't stop you. And I wouldn't… I wouldn't hate you… I don't think I could. _Never_."

There was still no sound.

"I just…" There was a pause. "You can leave… I won't hate you," she said again. "I won't. You'd be getting what you've wanted and I… I don't want to stop you." She didn't. She truly didn't. "If you want to leave, you can…" Her wings, shuddered, folded around her. Her head fell against the door with a gentle clunk. "You don't have to stay here. And you don't have to apologize. I don't want to do this to you. Not now. Not ever." She stared down at her hands which looked more like blurs now. Something wet ran down the tip of her nose and pearled against her thumb. Another one hit squarely against the heel of her palm. "I just want you to be happy," came the whisper. And she hoped beyond all hopes that he had heard it. And that that would give him the courage to get up and be happy. And know that she would try to be happy for him.

"Marianne…" And he said it in that way that she loved, exhaling every vowel, syllable, as if to prove that she was as much a part of him as air and without her he might die and that near sent a sob ripping out of her throat. She held it back and it tore the base of her lungs, stinging. He was not gone. And he was saying her name.

She leaned against the wood, ear pressing subtly against smooth mahogany. From there she could hear his breath, the clacking of his long nails. The door was thin, but she still felt miles away from him on her side. The back of her hand brushed the wooden surface, trying to imagine she was brushing his hand, feeling so much like rough bark. All she got was smooth. Everything in her kingdom, smoothed out until it no longer caught you, pricked you, cut you. No longer taught you what it was to open up and reach out and have the ability to hurt. Smooth never taught you to trust. So you trusted it anyway.

Smooth was blonde and shiny and new and broke your heart.

What was on the other side of smooth, and she brushed her hand again, may have been no better. And yet here she sat, wanting for nothing more than its happiness. And wanting for nothing more than it to be better.

And that's why she would leave.

Because he was better, she decided then. He'd made her happy. He'd listened. He'd made her feel special, incredible, loved. And this new woman, his first love, would be so lucky to find another who could give her a tenth of that.

Everyone deserved love. And if they had it then they needed it. And she'd be okay.

"Ye dunnai really want me ta leave, do ye?" _Please say no_, he was pleading. _Please, I beg you, say no. Because if you say yes, I will. I'd do anything for you. I'd leave for you. I'd let my heart break for you. _

Her mind told her to say yes. _**He'll leave when you say it. He will. You'll never have to see him again. Ever. Break his heart. It's too easy. He already broke yours. It's in your hands, Marianne. You're the warrior. Do what a warrior would do.**_ And she buckled up her chest, breathed in deep. "…no…" And that was the truth.

A beat.

"Please… open tha door?"

And she had no more energy. She couldn't hold onto anything anymore. From outside of the door Bog, sitting slumped, desperately staring at the wood as if she could feel his eyes on her back, heard the click of a lock.

He'd only seen it once before. In anger she curled her wings about her to mope. Dawn had explained that their wings were something of a tool. They used them to fly, yes. But they used them to sleep, to hide, to protect themselves and to bury away when their feelings became too much for the outside world to handle. When they couldn't deal with all the colors and sounds and people around them they'd go away. Simply curl up and go away.

Marianne hardly ever did it. She never hid.

But when he walked in, slowly pushing the door into her room, the first thing he saw was a purple cocoon on the floor in front of him, feet sticking out and a puff of brown hair near the top. He closed the door, leaned against it, looked at the purple wrappings. All was still and quiet and calm. Outside the sky was trickling blue, slated in and out between twilight. A warm breeze fell through the haze, finding its way through the room and attacking her wings, which fluttered, thankful for the small motion.

He took a deep breath. Stuck all his nerve to one place. It would take a lot to say, but his mother had been right. It had to be said. At some point it all had to be said.

So he said it.

"I dunnai think that I really fell in love with ye until after our third spar. Remember that? When I won. Ye were sore about it fer weeks." She didn't move. "My mother thinks we fell in love after… we sang. But that wasnaugh true. I was… affectionate. But… I dunnai." His face was feverish. "I dunnai," he said again. "It was odd… different. Strange. An' it was a month later an' I wasn't sure what I was feelin'. But ye were strong an' smart an' ye never treated me differently. I wanted ta be better for ye. An… an' then when you aren't around- ye make me better. Ye make me… me."

Still nothing.

"Don't think that I dunnai think you're beautiful. Because if ye even knew how I saw ye. An' yeh, ye might not _look_ like a goblin. But that dunnai mean… Ye'r different. That's what makes ye amazing. That's what makes ye more… more- she'll never- no one will ever look- _be_… be like…" He breathed, untwisted his tongue.

"So… if ye want me to leave, that's… that's fine. I'll leave. I will. Truly. An' I know why yer so mad. But I need ye ta know… I need ta say thank ye." She stirred, curious. "Thank ye fer makin me better. An' fer makin me happy. An thank ye fer takin me seriously and not seriously and fer not makin' me feel hideous-"

"You're not hideous." Her head emerged from her wings. "And you aren't leaving. You're staying."

And he melted right there, sliding back against the door with a smile. "Thank the Dark- I dunnai how I would'a done it!" And she realized that the relief was more stemmed from fear. She nodded, moved closer to him. Their shoulders touched.

"So… Nothing… nothing happened. I mean," she shook her head. Brunette hair flopped. "I know- I knew that nothing had happened. But, I mean-"

"She came in and kissed me. I was taken off guard and then… and then ye walked in. Nothing happened. Nothing would have happened." Just for reassurance, "I had her taken away. Back to her home. She isn't comin' back."

_**Something could still happen**_, the hiss came in with a vice, stirring her self consciousness with a golden spoon. "If you want-"

"I dunnaugh want anything to happen," firmer this time. "I… we… fit."

"No we don't," she turned back to her knees miserably. "We're different."

Bog grabbed her chin and she went wide eyed. It was a motion she was used to delivering, and now, as the victim, she understood just why she had done it to him. Nothing was more terrible yet needed than being forced to stare into someones eyes. And his were too blue now. So blue that she wanted to collapse against him, tell him that she believed him, would always believe him. Wish that they could fit. More than anything that they one day might. He had other ideas, and those blues sparkled with determination.

"Isn't that what makes us fit? Yeh, we're different. But that's what I like!" He moved closer, wound an around around her. She didn't shake him off, so he pulled her close. One of his hands moved to try and wipe the translucent stains on her skin and his rough palms scraped in the most delicious of ways. "I like different."

"So do I." She sighed, grabbed his hand. So much larger than hers. _Her_ hand had fit better. "I just- I thought you looked right. And you know what people say."

"How can I not," he growled. "I hear it all tha time."

Another heavy breath. "We are the weirdest couple ever."

"Agreed."

"And people hate us together."

"Always."

"And we're going to tell them to shove off."

"Off mountains if we have ta." His chin steepled atop her hair, sharp spokes digging into her scalp.

Her mouth quirked, she pressed against him. She didn't form against him like she would- it never would. But it didn't feel wrong. "I'm sorry- about today, I mean. I didn't mean to- I should have listened-"

"It happened before," he murmured into her hair. "I get it. I acted like-"

"Oh no! Oh no you don't, Mr. Bog King. You are not going to compare yourself to… to that insufferable son of a-" She bit her lip, took a breath, pressed back against his chest plate. "You. Aren't. Him. And to think I had even thought to compare you was terrible. I mean-" She should have known that she could trust him when it had hurt. Roland's betrayal had stung something fierce. Bog's hadn't been real. His had near shocked her to nothing. "I trust you," she stated firmly. "I don't know what happened. I just… I saw- But I trusted you. I knew I could. I can."

He squeezed her arm and she took it as a reply. I trust you too.

"Hey, Marianne?"

"Yeah?"

"Our standards of beauty are different. Yer right. But that doesnaugh mean you aren't- you can't be. Because… you are."

He didn't have to say much else. She got it. And both of them were blushing too much to even describe. "Bog?"

"Yeh?"

She looked away, staring at a panel of wood with interest. "You aren't ugly," she said. The panel of wood got more and more interesting. She counted the lines up the side. One, two, three- "You're beautiful. Inside and out." four, five, six- "Just… just generally everywhere." And it had taken every bit of courage to say those words, and she took another breath to steady the nerves buzzing around her head and chest and stomach. And she counted up to thirteen. And she felt his arms tighted around her. Grateful for the impossible and the possible and the How is this My Possible.

At that moment Marianne realized the difference of holding a sword and telling the man she… she… telling him everything wasn't that she had no weapon, but that she had far too many. And while a sword could do so much it turned out that she willingly cut herself open for him and waiting to either be rifled through or destroyed. She sometimes wished he would. Because the fact that he sewed her back together and added nothing whatsoever because he thought that she was her and that was okay hurt far more. "I mean that… I guess that… I think that you're beautiful. Too."

And because she was a brave girl who had not only fought the Bog King but had stood against everyone who said there were still fights to be had she challenged herself to look up. He was looking at her. She expected shock. Not this terrible, horrible look of pure adoration- as if he couldn't believe that he had found her and how incredibly lucky was he and she was the only person in the entire world who could ever make him like that and- Roland had never looked at her like that.

She cleared her throat, looked away. He followed suit, rubbing the back of his neck, stretching the ligaments.

"Augh, I forgot." Something was pushed into her palm. Soft, chained, separate. She looked down to find her band of blue poppies and smiled.

"Thanks. I was wondering-" she turned it in her hands. "I squashed two."

"I can make another one fer ye."

"I know you can. Your floral hobbies are incredible."

"So are yours." And she didn't understand until the boutonniere was in his palm. "Thanks fer it, by tha way. I missed the other one."

"I though." She took it, looked at it under the light. "You like it?"

"It's… lovely."

"It's hideous."

"Yes." He plucked it from her, sticking it to his shoulder. "But that's wha' makes it lovely." She snorted, falling back against him, plopping the crown of squished flowers on top of her head. Her wings fluttered, scraping his own. The final dregs of light soaked through the window, seeping into the floor. Birds began to quiet. The stream outside chuckled. She felt his lips press against the top of her head before his chin once more settled there. Not one of their most passionate moments. But one of their best.

She was finding that passion, while amazing, sometimes felt nothing like this. Nothing like the quiet and calm intimacy where the world looked away for a moment and let them breathe.

She listened to the steady rise and fall of their breaths and closed her eyes. And without anything they really weren't that different.

But when she did peek open her eyes to look at their hands she wasn't sure that they were so different after all.

The world would say they were. They just didn't know what lay behind purple gossamer and greyed exosceleton.

She figured that despite everything, she really still felt quite beautiful. And taking his hand in hers she decided that he should have felt the same. Against all social convention she decided that they may have been the only two in the kingdoms to know what beauty was.

"So…" he broke the silence, moving his fingers against hers. "Are ye still interested in… in council?"

_Be a part of my world, _he said. _You are enough. You are more than enough. You are my everything._

"Yeah. That sounds… good."

_I still want to spend forever with you. Marry me soon, won't you. Because I'm too shy to ask. And you're too shy to know. And we're both helpless. But I wont lose you. _

"I rescheduled it. For tomorrow. Thought you could, yunno-"

_I love you. Stay the night. Stay forever. Don't ever leave._

She smiled. "I'll grab my things," she said.

_I do._


	3. Proposal: In Which Night Grows the Brave

This is the shortest and sappiest you'll ever get from me (not really... I can go even sappier)

Enjoy and review!

* * *

The Bog King hated that he was bravest at night. But that was simply the way that the world worked. During the day he hid behind a staff with an amber glint and a sharpened snarl. At night he shed them, stepped out from their hardened skin and became brave. Which was a shame. Because when he was brave he said things that mattered.

When he was brave he could change his world for the better.

But he was only brave at night.

Knights were allowed to be brave during the day, glimmering under the sun. Bog was no knight. Bog was a dragon. He slept atop a mound of gold and blew smoke this way and that and forgot to be brave until the moon came out and he could fly without threat of sword or disturbance or judgement of beauty. So things around him remained stagnant and cruel and tortuously happy and quite the opposite of anything brave.

"One day, Marianne," the Bog King of the Dark Forest whispered to the Fairy Princess asleep beside him, brave as ever under the slashes of reflected light from his window "one day I'm going to marry ye. And not for diplomacy or peace across the border or any other rubbish reason the council suggests. Because I love ye. And that's all." Her chest moved up and down, and sometimes he still marveled at the sound of anothers heartbeat next to his own. He moved closer, wrapping his arm around her waist and burying her head beneath the sharpened spokes of his chin. "It's strange. We met because we both hated love. And now I love ye and I'm going to marry ye."

The Goblin brushed hair stuck to her brow with a taloned nail. "People don't like us together. They never will. And I thought yee'd listen. But ye didn't. And ye told them all off and then told me I was perfectly different." The young woman stirred, breath hitching for a moment before returning to its melodic cycle. "I have done so much to ye," he told her, listening to past faults echo in the dark room. "But yee've done to much for me. And it's selfish for me to ask you to do one more thing. But I'm evil. And evil people ask for more than they should." An owl howled from outside, and he watched its shadow pass above the moonlight, staggering the beams through feathers and a proud span. Bog swallowed, held her tighter. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating hard through an armored chest. "When the time comes… when I ask ye… say yes."

There was no response. He hadn't thought there would be. But it was still easier. It was easier to be brave. In the darkness he couldn't see his own shyness. Marianne never knew that when she was asleep he told her how much he loved her. She would never know that every night for the last month, while she slumbered and the world to her was filled with pink potions and borders made of wildflowers and magic that their lands didn't even possess, he asked her to marry him.

Bog finally drifted away, confessions stuck to his mind. Guilt heavy everywhere around him, shaking its head at the shyness that sat on his chest shrugging its shoulders forlornly, explaining through stutters _one day. Not today. But one day._

And guilt would always answer with _**how is this fair**?_

It was fairer than he thought.

Every night, when the room was calm and cool and shrouded with Bog's own light snores, Marianne would say yes.


End file.
